


Right Hand Woman

by owlmoose



Category: Cinders
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Disabled Character, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Perrault is severely injured in battle, Cinders helps him find his place in the world again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written to an anonymous prompt on Tumblr: "Perrault/Cinders, hurt/comfort after he pulls a Horatio Nelson." Spoilers for the Independent Woman, Perrault Romance ending. Posted as a WIP on Tumblr last fall, cleaned up for final posting here.
> 
> The first chapter includes descriptions of bonesetting and cleaning of wounds.

It was a quiet day in the manor house, peaceful and pleasant. Birds were singing in the forest, and a gentle breeze whispered in the trees. A lovely spring afternoon, the perfect time to sit on the porch and watch the world go by.

"Bet you think this is boring." Sophia leaned back in the rocking chair and crossed her feet on the deck. "No parties being planned, no distinguished scholars debating philosophy in the study, no visits from the prince, Perrault off chasing some band of highwaymen. Bet you're just waiting for something to come along and liven the place up."

Cinders set down the pillowcase she was embroidering and turned to her stepsister with raised eyebrows. "You're the one with your nose in an adventure novel," she pointed out. "Besides, I seem to recall you being more eager than I, the last time the prince was here."

Sophia's ears turned pink. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," she said primly, then buried her nose back in her book. Cinders smiled, took a sip of her lemonade, and returned to her sewing. Sophia kept denying any interest in Prince Basile, but the way she looked at him told another story. And, despite increasing pressure from the other nobles, the prince still had not taken a wife. Cinders suspected it was only a matter of time.

Her musings were interrupted by a thundering sound from the west: horses, maybe a dozen of them, trampling the forest path. Cinders put down her work again, this time with a frown. "Hm. Were you expecting anyone?"

Sophia shook her head. "Who ever comes here to see me?"

Cinders stood and lifted a hand to shade her eyes, squinting through the dust of the horses and the glare of the sun. "Perrault isn't supposed to be back for at least a week, so it can't be..." But it was -- she recognized his horse among the pack, a dappled gray mare with a dark mane. She was riderless, and Cinders's heart thudded with sudden fear. Had something happened to him?

Next to her, Sophia had also gotten to her feet. "I'll get the bandages," she said, then disappeared into the house. And Cinders gasped as she saw what Sophia had already noticed: a dark shape, slumped over the horn of a saddle, held in place by another rider. An incoherent cry escaped her lips as she threw her sewing aside and raced down the steps and into the courtyard to where the first of the riders had arrived, jumping off the back of the horse with a tip of his hat. 

"Apologies, m'lady, but we didn't know where else to bring him." It was a young man, a member of the local patrol that had replaced the City Guard -- Cinders recognized him, but could not remember his name. 

"Perrault?" Cinders lifted a hand to cover her neck, as if to ward off a blow. "Is he..."

"He's alive." He glanced over his shoulder at the horses galloping up behind him. "At least, he was when we found him. But I won't lie to you, m'lady -- it's pretty grim."

Cinders nodded, taking a deep breath to stave off the panic that was sure to come later. But not now -- no time to panic now, not when the rest of the horses were pulling up into her yard, including the one that carried Perrault, slumped like a sack of potatoes, wrapped in a heavy cloak that was stained with blood. She strode toward the horse and caught the eye of its rider, a big blond man with a drooping moustache. This man, she knew: it was Eduard, a former guardsman who had served under Perrault for many years. Normally he was quick with a smile, but not today. His eyes were grave as he nodded to her and barked out orders to his men, who carefully lifted the Perrault off the horse and down to the ground. 

"Lady Cinders," Eduard said as he dismounted. "I apologize for the unannounced--" 

"We can dispense with the social graces, thank you, Eduard." Cinders kept her words calm even though she felt like screaming. "Please take him upstairs. My sister will direct you to my room. Sophia?"

She turned to Sophia, who had reappeared on the porch, the basket of home remedies over her arm. "Right away, yes." Sophia set the basket aside -- nothing in there would be equal to this task. "This way, please."

Two of the men picked up Perrault, one holding his shoulders, the other his knees, and they went into the house. Cinders followed them through the hallway and up the stairs, and after they gently deposited Perrault on her bed -- Sophia had already thrown off the blankets to leave only the clean sheets beneath, bless that girl and her quick mind -- Cinders went down to one knee beside him. 

"Perrault?" she said, lifting a hand to his brow, pushing sweat-soaked hair back from his closed eyes. His skin was ashen, but his breathing seemed steady enough. He had returned wounded from his excursions before -- hence the stash of bandages, tinctures, and poultices kept at the ready -- but never had she seen him look like this: so pale, so limp, so much blood on his clothes. "Perrault, love?"

He moaned, once, and then not again. 

She stroked the top of his head, then moved her fingers to his neck to check his pulse. It was strong, if a bit fast, and she allowed herself a sigh of relief as she stood. "Oh, Perrault. What happened to you?"

"Don't know, exactly." Cinders turned around to see Eduard, standing in the doorway behind her. "We were riding back from the next village over when we found him, just like this, surrounded by half a dozen dead bandits and the tracks of many more. He may have tried to take out an entire gang by himself." He lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Damn the man, sometimes he has more bravery than sense."

Cinders unwrapped the cloak to check the extent of the injuries, carefully pulling it out from beneath his back, bracing herself for anything. It was bad, all right: his arms, legs and chest were riddled with bruises and lacerations, some of the cuts almost to the bone. Those would need stitches, for certain. She undid the belts that held up his breastplate; it had been slashed through in several places, but she suspected it had done its job, protecting his vital organs from the worst of the blades. No sparing his bones, though -- from the bruising, she suspected that several ribs were broken, and his right arm sat at an odd angle, the shoulder swollen to twice its usual size. The riders had bandaged the worst of the wounds and had wrapped the right arm, but all the dressings would need to be changed.

"Sophia!" She turned away from the bed to call again, but once again her sister was already there, standing next to Eduard in the doorway.

"What do you need?" Sophia asked.

"Bandages," Cinders replied, rolling up her sleeves. "And boiling water, and witch hazel, and that poppy elixir for the pain. Get the servants to help you. And Carmosa, if she can." Gloria, fortunately, was in town visiting her latest suitor; no risk of her getting underfoot.

"Right. I'll be back." Sophia looked up at Eduard. "Can you help me gather the herbs we'll need?"

"Of course, m'lady," Eduard said with a quick bow. "We are at your disposal." 

He turned to follow Sophia out the door, when Cinders called out to him. "Wait!" He turned back, and she raised her eyes to meet his. "Thank you for bringing him to me."

"M'lady." He bowed deeply at the waist. "I am happy to be of service to you both. I hope that you can make him whole again."

Cinders could only respond with a nod, choked with sudden fear. The damage was so extensive, and she was no healer. What could she do, really? She touched his forehead again, fighting back tears. Madame Ghede would know what to do, but she'd left town a long time ago, and Cinders had no way to reach her. For a wild moment Cinders contemplated running down the lake and begging the fairies for aid, bringing gifts of bread, flowers, money, whatever it took to save him....

But no, that was ridiculous. She hadn't heard from the fairies in years, and even if they agreed to help, how high a price would they extract? No. Cinders was on her own. She would just have to do her best.

She ran her hand down his left arm, leaving the right for now; when she hit a deep cut across his elbow, he groaned in pain, and then his eyes flew open, his head turning toward hers. "Ci- Cinders?"

"Yes, love, it's me." Cinders knelt down beside the bed, came close enough to leave a light kiss on his forehead. "You're safe now."

"How did I..." Perrault closed his eyes and sighed. "Everything hurts."

"Hush." Cinders ran the backs of her fingers along his scarred cheek. "Save your strength. I'll take care of you."

He nodded and relaxed, letting his head rest against the pillow, and Cinders let out a long, shuddering breath of her own. He was awake, he was alive. Knowing that, she could manage the rest. She didn't have any choice but to manage the rest. The alternative was too horrifying to contemplate.

She started by examining Perrault carefully, head to toe, taking stock of every cut, bump, and bruise, no matter how slight. When she pulled off his boots and prodded his toes -- one was wrenched and already bruised a deep purple -- she heard him shifting around, and she stood up to see him watching her. 

"How bad is it? Tell me the truth." 

His voice was a whisper raked over gravel, cracked and dry. Cinders did not reply to him, directing her next words to Sophia as she walked in the room with an armload of bandages. "Could you pour a cup of water?" Sophia nodded and moved to the bedside ewer. Cinders took the proffered glass and moved behind Perrault, propping him up enough to drink . He closed his eyes to swallow, then looked up at her with a sardonic smile. 

"You didn't answer my question," he said. 

"I know." Cinders backed away and let the others enter the room: Eduard carrying a heavy cauldron, another of the men with the basket of herbal preparations. They left them at the bedside, then stepped away as if awaiting orders. She acknowledged them, then returned her attention to Perrault. "I didn't answer because I don't know yet. I need to change all the bandages and clean your wounds -- that's going to hurt, I'm afraid -- and then I can take stock of the rest. Your right arm is probably the worst. I need to take a closer look but I..." She stood and turned away, letting her hand fall on his left shoulder. "I don't know if I can save it."

Perrault let out a shuddering breath, then fell silent. When he spoke again, the rasp in his voice was not from dehydration. "Do what you have to do."

Cinders risked a look at him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." His left hand opened and Cinders slid her own into it, closing her fingers gently around his; he squeezed back with a tight grip, meeting her gaze with storm-dark eyes. "I trust you."

She leaned down to kiss his cheek, brushing his hair back one more time. Once it had been brown, flecked with gray, but now it was the other way around; when had that changed? Shaking the distracting thought away, she let go of his hand and stood up straight, the general of the sick room, commanding her team. 

"Sophia, give me a hand with these bandages. Let's see what we have to work with."

That was how it began: Cinders removing every bandage and most of his clothes, cutting away what would not come off easily. She then washed each cut and abrasion with the witch hazel, hardening her heart to Perrault's gasps and hissing intakes of breath and one outright scream -- that was the saber cut across his upper chest, a bone-deep gash that would need stitching. When the time came to sew it up, she found a piece of one of his ruined belts; without a word, he opened his mouth and let her place the leather between his teeth. He was quieter after that, suffering in near-silence as she wrapped his wrenched knee, set the broken toe back into place, and bandaged the cracked ribs, tending to every other injury until she could ignore his right arm no longer. 

His right arm. Yes, that was unquestionably the worst of it. The shoulder appeared to be wrenched from its socket, and Cinders thought the upper arm broken in at least three places. Gingerly, she unwrapped the bandage that his rescuers had hastily applied in the field, and she could not suppress a gasp at the sight of a single hoof print, red and purple against the pale skin of his upper arm.

Perrault flicked his eyes sideways. "Yes," he gritted out. "A horse. Last thing I remember, before..." He closed his eyes and leaned back his head, all the muscles in his neck straining against the pain as Cinders prodded at the ruin of his shoulder blade -- it felt like a mass of bone chips beneath the skin. It was a miracle none of them had broken through. Still, it was bad enough that she couldn't reset his shoulder joint. Even if the upper arm hadn't been broken, there was nowhere for it to go.

"Cinders." Perrault's voice was low, the word mumbled through his still-clenched jaw, and his face was lined with agony. "Whatever you must do, do it now. Please."

She nodded, then raised her eyes to Eduard. "Help me," she said, and he came to her side. "Hold him down while I set the breaks I can."

"Right." Eduard caught Perrault's eye briefly. "Sorry, old friend." Perrault acknowledged the apology and then looked away as Eduard's hand closed around what was left of the right shoulder. Cinders worked quickly, blocking out Perrault's grunts and heart-wrenching moans, working the broken pieces of his upper arm back into place. Then she wrapped it back up in clean linens, swaddling it from wrist to shoulder before tying it tightly against his side. 

"There." She stepped back, took just a second to check her handiwork, then took an elixir bottle from the dresser where Sophia had arranged her various preparations. Cinders pulled the stopper from the bottle and came back around to Perrault's head, pulling the belt piece from his mouth. "It's done. I'm sorry I had to hurt you."

Perrault shook his head. "Had to be done."

"I know, but..." Cinders sighed, then sat down on the stool someone had left by the head of the bed. "I still hate it." She pulled herself closer to him, resting her hand on his forehead, soothing his brow, and he closed his eyes. "Now, that inventory. I can say with reasonable certainty that you aren't going to bleed to death tonight. But that's all I can be certain of. We'll have to watch for fever, and weakness, and that your broken bones are mending properly. Your shoulder... only time will tell. Once the swelling is down, we might be able to get it back into place. For now, you need to sleep. Here, drink this." She tipped the elixir to his lips, and he swallowed obediently, only shuddering a little at the vile taste. 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Poppy's milk and willow bark," he murmured. "I see Ghede did teach you a few things."

She touched her lips to his forehead. "Just a few. I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you earlier, but I needed you awake."

"'s all right." His words were already slurring, his gaze losing focus. "You should rest, too."

"I will," Cinders lied, not moving as he slipped out of her arms and back down to the bed, relaxing into drugged sleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. The others left the room, but Cinders stayed, sitting a hand's reach away, not taking her eyes off him. Finally she let herself feel all the emotions she had been blocking: the shock, the fear, the helpless agony of seeing the man she loved in pain and near death, and they washed over her like a sudden chill, leaving her trembling, tears pricking at the back of her eyelids. She pulled one of the blankets off the floor and wrapped it around herself, clinging to it like a frightened child. No, she would not be able to sleep tonight: instead, she would stand guard and wait for him to wake. Awake, she could keep the demons of her fears away, and keep the black dogs of death off their doorstep.

-x-

The hours passed slowly, the only marker of time being the steady rise and fall of Perrault's chest. Cinders kept watch as she had planned, moving from her chair only to check on her charge when he shifted or muttered in his sleep, dosing him for pain twice more, and once when a serving girl appeared in the door with dinner: a plate of venison, vegetables, and bread in one hand, a fresh pitcher of water in the other. She nibbled at her meal and sipped from the mug, but she hadn't much appetite, and she barely noticed when another servant took the full plate away.

Eventually she did sleep, overcome by exhaustion two hours before sunrise. When she jerked herself awake, the sun was fully up, and a blonde head bent over Perrault, touching his wrappings, checking the dressing on his chest. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and saw to her surprise that it was Carmosa; she began to speak, but Carmosa stilled her with a finger to her lips, then jerked her head toward the door. Cinders stood, stretching out the kinks from her arms and neck as she followed her stepmother into the hallway. 

"He seems improved," Carmosa said. "Certainly further from death's doorstep than he was yesterday afternoon."

Cinders glanced back through the door. Perrault lay on his back, left arm folded over his chest, the right bound tightly to his side; a light stubble covered his cheeks and he wore a frown, but then Perrault often frowned in his sleep. "I suppose," she said. "No worse, at any rate."

Carmosa nodded. "And you? I see you got some sleep, finally."

Cinders flushed. "I didn't mean to. I was supposed to be watching over him."

"You need your rest." Carmosa took a quick look over her shoulder toward the bedroom. "I know something of what it is like to watch over a man you care for, unsure whether he will live or die." Cinders thought back to her father's last illness and remembered Carmosa, standing silent in the corner of the room while Cinders knelt by his side in tearful farewell. At the time she had taken Carmosa's stillness for cold indifference, but she knew better now. "I trust that Perrault is in capable hands; you're the one I came to check on."

"Oh. Well." Cinders looked down at her fingers. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Although I suppose some breakfast wouldn't come amiss."

"I'll have something sent up right away," Carmosa said. "And perhaps some porridge, if you think Perrault is up to eating?"

"I'll eat it if he doesn't." Just thinking of a hot bowl of porridge, rich with honey and a bit of cream, made Cinders's mouth water. Carmosa headed down the stairs while Cinders went back into the bedroom and laid her hand on Perrault's forehead; it was warm, but not feverish, and she allowed herself the smallest measure of relief. 

He opened his eyes. "Cinders?"

"Good morning, love." She sat down on her stool. "How are you feeling?"

"As though I'd been torn to bits by demons, then put back together." He coughed, then grimaced, and Cinders reached for the water glass. "That's not far wrong, I suppose."

Cinders propped him up on the pillows and held the glass to his lips; he took several greedy swallows before she pulled it away. "Are you up to eating?" she asked. "Carmosa is having some porridge sent up."

"A little, perhaps." He glanced down at his hands -- the left, limp at his side, the right hidden under a mass of bandages. "I may need some help."

The words were spoken slowly, with great reluctance, and Cinders smiled inside. He was already feeling better, if he resisted her assistance. "Of course," she said, in as neutral a tone as she could muster. She gathered up his left hand in both of hers and turned to face him. "Whatever you need, my dearest, I am here."

He nodded and leaned back against the pillows, his eyes on hers. "Thank you," he murmured, and lifted their joined hands to his lips, which he brushed over the backs of her fingers. She tightened her grip and shivered at the thought of how close she had come to losing him. How easily it could still happen. But right now he was here, alive, his hand warm in hers, and so she moved in for a swift kiss. 

"Morning." Cinders pulled back and saw Sophia in the door, steam rising from the bowl she carried. "Breakfast is served."

"Ah, good." Cinders waved Sophia inside. The porridge smelled delicious, but her greedy eyes fell on the cup of coffee that Sophia had in her other hand. "I'll take that."

Sophia handed them to her. "You want something else for yourself?"

"Maybe in a minute." Sophia nodded; Cinders took a long, grateful drink of the coffee -- milky and sweet, just the way she liked it -- before stirring the porridge and scooping up a small spoonful. She held it up and caught Perrault's eye. "Ready?"

His eyes flicked away from her, but he opened his mouth, looking for all the world like a baby bird. As Cinders fed him, the image persisted: Perrault as a wounded bird, but not a songbird or a sparrow. Something strong and fierce and noble, like a hawk or a falcon with one wing pinioned, unsure if it would ever fly again. He ate about half the bowl, then turned away. "Thank you," he said again. "Now, you should go find your own breakfast."

Cinders set the bowl on the floor next to her cooling coffee and smoothed his hair back. "I won't leave you."

He looked back at her, eyebrow raised. "Did you sleep at all last night? Or eat a proper meal?" Cinders shrugged, and Perrault smiled. "I thought so. It's all right, Cinders. I'm poor company right now, and you need to take care of yourself, too."

She sighed. She hated when he was right. And she also had to admit that the smell of frying meat from the kitchen was sending her into a state of rapture -- Perrault making it through the night had done wonders for her appetite. "You know me too well, love. All right. I'll have some breakfast if you take another dose of the pain medication. Is it a deal?"

"A fair bargain," he replied with another half smile, and she pulled the bottle off the dresser.

-x-

A hot fresh breakfast was waiting when Cinders came downstairs, along with all of the tasks she had neglected yesterday while tending to Perrault. One of the first things she had done when she came into her money was to hire enough servants to run the house properly, and Carmosa and Sophia both pitched in where they could, but there were still many things that only she, as head of the household, could take care of, such as settling bills and accounts that came due very soon. She also dealt with a disciplinary matter that had arisen among the staff, took stock of the medical supplies, dispatched a messenger to the healer in the next town over, and took the necessary steps to cancel a party she had scheduled for next week -- Gloria would be disappointed at the delay in her search for a husband, but Gloria could go jump in the lake as far as Cinders was concerned. Perrault was her top priority right now; everything else would just have to wait.

The small tasks piled up, and with one thing and another -- not to mention the two hour nap she took, to her chagrin, after dozing off at her desk in the study -- it was almost sundown by the time she was able to return to her room and check on Perrault. Though he seemed to be asleep, at the sound of her footfalls in the doorway he opened his eyes and turned to face her. "There you are." His voice was still rough, but stronger than it had been even that morning. 

"Hello there," she replied, greeting him by taking his hand and kissing his forehead. "Feeling any better? I'm sorry to have been gone for the entire day." She sat down in her chair, not letting go of his hand.

He shook his head. "Don't worry yourself. I was well cared-for, by your stepsister and the servants under her direction. And I slept most of the time, anyway."

"My stepsister?" Cinders shook her head. "Then I should apologize double, at least -- Sophia may be clever, but she has a terrible bedside manner."

"It was Gloria, actually." Cinders eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Perrault responded with a wry smile. "And she was most kind, and helpful." 

"Hm." This detail was too unexpected to absorb right now, so Cinders set it aside for later contemplation. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing much for now, I'm afraid." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Every muscle aches, and I'm still exhausted -- I've spent so much of this day asleep already, and yet all I want is close my eyes and drift away."

Cinders squeezed his hand. "Sleep is what you need to heal," she said. "Although you should probably eat something first, if you're up for it. Some soup perhaps, and a little bread -- I requested both for my own dinner, which should be here shortly."

"Well, all right." The serving girl appeared in the door just as Perrault finished speaking, and Cinders blessed her competent staff. 

The girl laid the tray on the corner table with a curtsey. "M'lady, Captain." Perrault grimaced at the use of the title; he hadn't been captain of the guard for too years, and hated the reminder of his less-than-voluntary retirement, but neither he nor Cinders had come up with a better form of address for the manor staff to use. "I'm glad to see you on the mend, sir."

Despite his discomfort, he acknowledged the well-wish with a nod, and she backed out of the doorway; meanwhile, Cinders went to pick up the bowl -- a hearty soup, made from the leftover venison, healthful and easy to eat, just as she had requested. "Here, let me help you."

"It smells wonderful." Perrault struggled up to a seated position. "I think I can manage, if you keep the bowl steady."

It was slow and awkward going -- Perrault was not practiced at eating with his left hand, and the bandage on his elbow hampered his movements, but in the end he did manage to finish half of the soup and several slices of bread. Cinders ate the rest of both, and the rest of the food that had been brought up. When they were both finished, she gathered up the dishes and got to work, changing his bandages and checking on his bindings -- everything seemed to be holding, and some of the smaller bruises were beginning to fade. 

"Looks good," she said. "Do you want more painkiller?"

"In a little while." He flicked his eyes upward to her. "My mind grows muddled when I take it, and I find I want to spend a little more time with you, awake and alert." He reached his hand out and she took it again. "I am... not unaware that I've disrupted your entire household, not the least by taking over your bed. Where did you sleep last night?" Without meaning to, Cinders glanced at the chair, and he smiled ruefully. "I thought so, and you can't, Cinders. As I said this morning, you need to take just as much care for yourself as for me. It'll be no good for my recovery if I'm worrying about you, too."

"I-- all right." Cinders stepped away from the bed. "But I don't want to sleep apart from you, either. I'll have the trundle bed brought in."

Perrault glanced down at the space beside him. "Is there not enough room here?"

Cinders couldn't help but smile. He knew perfectly well, from ample experience, that they would both fit easily in her bed. "I can't imagine that would be comfortable for you right now, as much pain as you must be in."

He leaned his head sideways, eyes softening. "Less uncomfortable than being separated from you for another night."

A lump rose in Cinders's throat, all the tears she had been avoiding for the past day threatening to spring forth. "All right," she murmured. "For a little while, at least." Kicking off her shoes, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers, then rolled over into Perrault's side, careful not to jostle anything bruised or bandaged. "Is that all right?"

"Better than all right." He let out a soft sigh, bringing his left arm around her back to pull her closer. Her hand found a safe place on his chest, resting just beside his heart, and she nestled against him. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You still being alive is all the thanks I need," she whispered, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his cheek. He turned his head and caught her mouth with his in a gentle caress, sharing the warmth of his breath as proof that he did, indeed, live another day. 

"I love you," he said, softly. "And I hope I can still be the man you love, when all this is over."

Cinders touched their foreheads together. "Just live," she murmured. "Right now, that's all I ask."

"Then I shall do my best," he replied, kissing her again. "For both our sakes." She closed her eyes and rested her head next to his, as close as she dared, felt his warmth and nearness, and hoped their best would be enough.

-x-

Tired as she was, Cinders couldn't fall asleep -- she was too aware of Perrault and his fragility, too afraid of jostling him as she relaxed into unconsciousness. Still, she found it comforting to lie next to him, feel his warmth and the steady beating of his heart, watch him breathe. But eventually the grimace he made with each deep breath -- pain, most likely from the cracked ribs -- was too much for her to bear, and so she roused him enough for another dose of the poppy elixir. Then she called in two servants to drag in the old trundle bed from Sophia's room, just managing to change and wash her face before collapsing into it from pure exhaustion.

The next morning followed the pattern of the first -- sleeping in, feeding Perrault breakfast, finding some food of her own before dealing with the business of the house -- but noon brought an interruption: the arrival of the healer Cinders had summoned. She was an elderly woman, hunched over but spry, with a quick step and a gleam in her eye. More grandmotherly and less intimidating than Madame Ghede, but no less formidable in her own way. 

The healer, who was called Mistress Giselle, undertook a thorough investigation of Perrault's injuries, much as Cinders had on the first day, unwrapping all the bandages and gently prodding at the broken bones. Perrault took it all in stoic silence until she reached his right shoulder; even a light touch there made him hiss with pain, and she backed away.

"Bad one, is it?" She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Mindful I'll be, but I need to get a good sense of what's happened in there."

"Of course." Perrault's tone was calm, measured, only the slightest hitch in his breath betraying his nervous anticipation. "I'll do my best to lie still."

Mistress Giselle looked at him with sympathy. "You're a man used to taking your lumps and then being patched up, aren't you? I don't need the scars on your face to tell me that. Well, I'll be as quick as I can. Can't promise any gentleness, though."

Perrault let out a wheezy laugh. "Nor would I expect it."

"No." Her expression turned more thoughtful. "I suppose you wouldn't. Well then, dearie, won't you sit there with him while I take a look?"

This last was addressed to Cinders, who had stood at silent attention throughout the inspection. Now she responded to the order with a nod, taking the seat on Perrault's left side and threading her fingers through his. 

"That's good, hold him steady. Now, let's see what there is to see." Giselle unwrapped the bindings that slung around his left armpit and over the chest to hold the shoulder and arm in place. The swelling had gone down, but only a little, and the hoof mark was as clear as ever, red with dried blood and bruised a deep purple. "Demons, that looks painful!"

"It is," Perrault bit out. "I felt the bone shatter when the horse landed on me. Not... pleasant. That's when I lost consciousness."

"And no wonder." Giselle checked over the entire shoulder and upper arm, her touch firm put swift; Perrault choked back a few gasps, and his grip on Cinders's hand grew tighter and tighter until her fingers went numb. She bit her lip and bore it -- whatever she was feeling, she was sure his pain was a thousand times worse. When Giselle had finished, she stood up and looked at Cinders. "You-- I presume it was you who tending the wounds? -- you did a fine job cleaning all the others, but it looks as though you didn't touch this one."

"No," Cinders admitted, with a swift glance at Perrault. "I was afraid to hurt him more."

Mistress Giselle clucked her tongue again. "You should have done it anyway. That's why we don't heal our own kin, you know. Hard to be as ruthless as you need to be, when your heart weeps for your patient's hurts." She patted Perrault's right hand. "Well, no harm done, I don't think, as long as I wash it out now. What did you use to clean his cuts?"

"Witch hazel and boiled water," Cinders said.

"A fine choice, if you don't have anything better," Giselle responded. "I have a stronger potion in my basket. How are you treating the pain? Poppy's milk?"

Cinders nodded. "Mixed with willow's bark."

"Ah, for the swelling." Mistress Giselle had already pulled out a small green bottle and a clean rag and began pouring a clear liquid on the cloth. "Someone's taught you well. Good thing -- your village has been without a decent healer since Madame Ghede left you."

Cinders couldn't help but smile. "It was Madame Ghede herself who taught me. Just a few things, right before she took off."

"That prince of yours was a fool to let her go." Giselle stoppered the bottle and set it aside, then looked straight at Perrault. "Smart as a whip, that woman, and one of the best healers I ever knew. If she taught Lady Cinders a few things, then you owe her you life."

"Twice over," Cinders said, with another fond look at Perrault, her eyes falling on his scarred cheek. He had never shared many of the details, but she knew that Madame Ghede had found him and healed him after the attack in which he got those scars. She wondered what kind of scars this battle would leave.

"All right, let's get this taken care of." Giselle nodded to Perrault. "Hold tight, my boy, this may sting a bit." 

A spark of resentment crossed Perrault's expression at being called "boy", but it was quickly replaced by a wide-eyed gasp of agony as the healer touched her wetted cloth to the hoof-mark wound. His hand clamped down on Cinders's again; she used her other hand to gently keep him on the bed while Giselle finished her work. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, panting. "What the devil was that?"

"Whiskey," the old woman replied calmly, folding the rag into a small square and dropping it back into her basket. "Sent through the still twice to pull out any impurities. It does, indeed, hurt like the devil, but nothing cleans a wound better. Anyway, it's done now, and we won't need to do it again, unless you go rolling in the muck. Let's bind up your arm again. Help me, would you dear?" Cinders did as she was asked, helping pull the linen around Perrault's back and over his shoulder, tying the arm back into place.

When they had finished, Mistress Giselle put away the rest of her things, then perched on the chair by the window. "Now, my boy, would you prefer the blunt analysis or some reassuring platitudes?"

Cinders had to chuckle -- this old woman was reminding her more of Ghede every minute. With Cinders's help, Perrault struggled up to a seated position and looked straight at her. "The truth, please."

"All right." Giselle leaned back into her seat. "You'll mend easily, I think -- believe it or not, most of the wounds are not that serious, and all were well tended. Fever remains a danger, it always is, but I'll leave tinctures and dressings with your young lady. I see no reason why you won't be up and around -- carefully, mind you -- within a week. But for the shoulder." She shook her head. "It's destroyed, and no mistake. I can't even guess how that mess will knit back together. If the damage were any lower down, I'd suggest taking the arm off right now, save you the trouble. But to amputate above the shoulder is risky, very risky. Safer, I think, to keep it tightly bound and take your chances with the fever. The choice is yours, of course. But this is my advice."

Perrault let out a breath, and a tension Cinders hadn't even noticed in the room before went with it. He had feared losing the arm, she realized, far more than he'd ever let on. "Then I will take your advice," he said. "Will it heal?"

"I won't lie to you, dear. Your odds of regaining full range of motion in that arm are slim indeed. You might get your grip back, if you're lucky, or some use of your elbow. But the shoulder itself?" She shrugged. "It would take a miracle beyond my abilities. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and leaned against the headboard, and for a long time, he was silent. When he opened them again, he looked older than before. Tired, world-weary. "I understand," he replied, quietly. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Yes." Cinders went to Mistress Giselle's side and helped her stand. "Thank you for coming all this way. Please, let me see you out." She led the old woman out the door and down the stairs, talking about next steps all the way into the hall, where the butler was waiting with Giselle's wrap and payment. Cinders took a basket containing all the remedies that had been described to her, then paused before opening the door. "Are you sure you won't stay the night?"

"No thank you, dear, I have a room at the inn in town."

"All right." Cinders looked at the healer, and she looked back with clear blue eyes. "Is it true, what you said? Is the arm truly hopeless? Is he going to heal?"

"I believe so." Mistress Giselle patted Cinders on the hand. "He may not seem so to your young eyes, but Captain Perrault is still near the prime of his life, and in good health. He'll mend all right, near good as new -- excepting, of course, the right arm. As for that, well." She shrugged. "I've seen stouter men break from a hurt like that, and weaker men step up to the challenge. You never know which it will be. But he'll have your help and support, and that often makes the difference." 

The butler opened the door and Mistress Giselle left, trundling down the pathway into the forest, the young man who had escorted her from the village walking by her side. Cinders watched her go, then turned back into the house where Sophia waited, book loose in her hand. "How was it?" she asked.

"I'll tell you later," Cinders replied, and started her way back up the stairs. In the hallway outside her room, she paused with her hand on the doorknob. She didn't want to leave Perrault alone to digest news of this magnitude, but what if he preferred it that way? He had spent so much of his life alone that solitude came naturally to him -- even now, he kept a room at a boardinghouse in town and often spent nights there. Would he want to talk, or take some time alone to think?

There was only one way to know for sure. Cinders took a deep breath and pushed the door open, letting it close behind her. Perrault had not moved, still sitting up against the pillowed headboard, staring out the window, face blank. 

"Perrault? Love?" Cinders took a step closer, the silence thick between them. When he did not reply or even move, she forged ahead. "Do you want company, or--" 

He turned his head on the pillow to face her. "Company, no. You, yes. Please stay." She started toward him, but he looked away again, and so she settled into the chair by the window instead. And so they sat together, but it was not the quiet companionship they usually shared; instead the air was heavy with worries, fears, things unsaid. When he finally spoke again, his eyes stayed focused outside the window. "You always know of this possibility, when you live a warrior's life. It lurks at the back of your mind, popping out when you least expect it: the fear that someday you may take a blow from which you will never recover. But you never truly believe that it will happen to you."

Cinders shook her head. "Don't give up all hope," she said. "You might still recover."

"You heard the healer just as well as I." Perrault turned again to face her, his eyes shuttered. "It would take a miracle."

"Stranger things have happened," Cinders replied, leaning forward to rest her hand on the foot of the bed. "Like a kitchen maid dressed in rags gaining the favor of the prince, the friendship of the richest man in town, and the heart of the mysterious and dashing captain of the guard." That was enough to earn her a crooked smile, and she moved to sit beside him, taking his free hand. "So you'll understand if I'm not ready to give up on you yet." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his fingers, pressing them tightly against her mouth, then resting them on her cheek. "We're in this together, whatever comes next."

"Cinders." His voice was rough, choked; his dark brown eyes focused on her like a falcon ready to swoop down on its prey. He tugged at their joined hands to draw her close enough for a kiss, claiming her mouth with his. His hand came around the back of her neck and then was up into her hair while she stroked his cheek, rough with two days of stubble. Her lips parted at his unspoken request, coming closer to taste his breath, responding to the call of his tongue with a stroke of her own. He pulled away, laid his hand on the side of her face, and touched their foreheads together. "Cinders, I--" With a slow exhale, he took her hand again and placed it on his chest, covering his heart, then wove their fingers together. "I need you. Now. Please."

"You..." Cinders lifted her head to confirm from the hunger in his eyes that he was asking what she thought he was asking. "Can you?"

"I don't know if I can." Perrault tightened his fingers on hers. "I only know that I must."

Cinders bit her lip. "I... I want to." Very much, she realized; just at the suggestion, she could feel the warmth of desire spreading through her whole body. She had almost lost him, and she still might; she ached to be with him, to feel him within her, around her. She traced his jaw with her free hand and lowered her eyes. "But I'm afraid I might hurt you."

"I trust you to be careful," Perrault replied, and he let her hand go to tip up her chin, forcing her to meet his bright gaze. "It's worth the risk."

She took a deep breath and let it out, slow, shuddering. And then showed her agreement with a kiss, longer and harder and slower than the last, exploring every corner of his mouth as he dragged her hand down, under the covers and to his smalls, cock hard and warm beneath the thin cloth, already straining for her touch. In response, she pulled the undergarment down and let him spring free, then wrapped her fingers around him. 

A few light strokes, and then she pulled away, their eyes still locked together as she stripped off her skirts, her petticoat, her hose, and loosened the laces of her corset. Perrault reached to her, and she reached back, throwing the quilt onto the floor before climbing back on the bed, kneeling over him, one leg on either side of his hips. She had straddled him a few times before, so she was already familiar with the angle she would have to take to guide him inside her. But she moved with care, lest she jostle the right arm or the bandaged ribs, easing herself down on him with an almost agonizing slowness.

He moaned and his hand came around to rest on the small of her back, and she brought both palms up to frame his face. She leaned in and touched her lips to his, and he responded fiercely, pressing back, hard, tongue in her mouth, fingers splayed across her back. Still slow, still careful, she began to rock in his lap, sliding up and down his cock at a steady pace, then picking up speed to match the rhythm of his kiss. He lifted his hips to meet hers, and she buried her face in his neck, stroking his pulse with her lips, tasting the salt on his skin, twining her fingers into his hair. Perrault groaned her name, and Cinders murmured his in return, then pushed him as deep and hard inside her as she dared. He gasped, and then the tremors took him, his body shaking with release as she held him up, kept him steady. 

They sat together for a long while, Cinders still balanced in Perrault's lap but letting her knees take her weight rather than his hips; his arm tightened around her back, then reached up to stroke her hair, which had come loose from its chignon some time back. "My love," he murmured, his breath warm on her neck, a catch in his voice. "I-- I am so afraid."

"I know." Cinders kissed his brow, his scarred cheek, the side of his nose. "But you won't go through this alone. No matter what. I swear it." She felt his nod of acknowledgement, and she shifted off of him to snuggle into his left side. He sighed again and fell back against the headboard, his arm coming around her back and pulling her tight. After a few minutes, she felt his grip loosen, and she shifted around to see that he had fallen into a light sleep, his lips parted, his breathing slow and heavy. Cinders smiled and pushed aside the lock of hair that had fallen into his face. Instead of waking him for more medicine, she eased him back down to lie flat on the bed, arranging his head on the pillow and pulling the quilt back over him. Then, after putting her skirts back on and making a minimal effort to fix her disheveled hair, she settled down in the chair, taking her watch once again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Cinders. Cinders!"

Something was buzzing around her head, the hiss of her name breaking through the fog and clearing away the last vestiges of her dream -- she had been walking by a stream, or maybe a lake, so warm, so peaceful... Cinders started to slap the intruder away, then opened her eyes to see that the interloper was Gloria, who stared down at her, hands on her hips. "Yes?"

"It's dinnertime," Gloria whispered, presumably keeping her voice down to keep from waiting Perrault. But she had failed; Perrault was stirring, shaking his head. Cinders sat up and brushed the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. 

"I'll be down in a minute," she said. Gloria turned on her heel, and Cinders called after her. "Wait! Wait for me outside the door, all right?" Gloria sniffed, but she didn't say no, and when she stepped outside, she closed the door almost all the way behind her.

Cinders got out of bed and glanced down at her rumpled shirt, her half-open stays, the skirts she had pulled back on hastily without thought for petticoats or stockings. "I suppose I should freshen up," she muttered to herself. She pulled her hair down all the way and quickly braided it, straightened her shirt beneath the corset and started to tighten its lacing. Then she heard a soft noise behind her -- Perrault, watching her with a smile. "What?"

"I think you look just fine," he said.

"You would," she retorted, but she leaned over to kiss him anyway. He caught the loose ribbons dangling from her corset and pulled her closer; the kiss became more complicated, and she had to brace herself against the pillow, one hand on either side of his head.

"How do you feel?" she asked, after finally extricating herself. 

"Sore." Perrault started to sit up, then apparently thought better of it, wincing and glancing at his ribs. Cinders followed his gaze and shook her head. 

"I knew it was too soon," she said.

Perrault rested his hand between her breasts. "It was worth it."

"I'm glad." Cinders touched his cheek. "Do you want your medicine now, or would you rather eat first?"

"Eat," he said, decisively. "But after you're done. Don't worry, I'll wait."

She started to ask if he was sure, then checked herself. Barring the long-term threat of fever, he was clearly on the path to recovery. It was time to stop treating him like a helpless invalid. "All right," she said, smoothing out her skirts and putting on slippers. If anyone cared to notice her half-undressed state, they could take it up with her later. "I'll be back in a little while."

Cinders half-expected Gloria to be gone, but she still stood in the hallway, leaning against a closed door, arms crossed. Not tapping her foot with impatience, but she might as well have been. "Well, what am I waiting for?"

"I just wanted to thank you," Cinders said. A look of surprise crossed Gloria's face as she continued. "For taking care of Perrault yesterday, while I was stuck dealing with household matters. I appreciate it."

"Oh." Gloria dropped her arms as she shrugged. "Well, of course. You and I don't always get along, but that doesn't mean I wish Perrault ill. Someone needed to keep an eye on him, make sure he was being tended." If a bit of venom slipped into those last words, Cinders could ignore it -- picking a fight was the last thing she wanted to do right now. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Mistress Giselle thinks so, if he doesn't push himself too hard." Cinders started down the stairs, and Gloria followed her into the dining room. She thought about mentioning the arm, but she decided against it -- maybe later, when his prospects for recovery were clearer. But perhaps she would speak to Carmosa -- her first husband had been a soldier, and she might have some insights on how best to help Perrault. His good cheer of a few moments ago had been encouraging, but she wondered how likely it was to last.

-x-

Perrault raised an eyebrow as Cinders walked into the room with a bowl balanced in her hands. "You don't need to have the cook keep making stew for my sake."

"Nothing like that," Cinders assured him. "We came into a large hunk of venison the day you arrived, so we'd be eating stew for a week regardless."

His expression remained skeptical, but he did not object as she sat down next to him, spoon propped up in the thick broth. As with the night before, he fed himself; then she gave him a dose of his medication before they both settled down to sleep. 

She woke up at her more usual time the next morning, perhaps an hour after sunrise. Also different this morning was Perrault -- he was already awake, half-sitting up, and gazing into space. She greeted him with a kiss, and then he gestured out the open window. "Any chance of getting out of this bed? You have a nice view, but I could use a change of scenery."

"I might be able to arrange that," Cinders replied. "But let's see how standing up goes before we make any grand plans."

He snorted, but did not disagree. She pushed the trundle bed beneath the four-poster to make room, and he threw off the covers and sat up, slowly, pausing as he came fully upright and put his feet on the floor for the first time in days. He leaned forward, hand to his forehead, and Cinders reached out to steady him.

"I'm all right," he said. "Just a bit dizzy. I'll be fine in a minute."

After taking a few more breaths, he started to stand, then winced; Cinders came around to his side and helped him up, letting him put his left arm around her to brace himself. He tested his ribs and his right foot -- the one with the broken toe -- as he came fully upright. "Yes, I think--" He took a hobbling step forward, then stopped with a gasp, shaking his head. "Perhaps not."

The disappointment on his face was palpable as Cinders helped him back down to the bed. "We can at least arrange things so you can sit up," she said. "Here, let me--" She pulled the cushions from the chair and arranged them against the headboard, giving him a place to lean. "Better?" He nodded. "Good, we'll start with that. I'll see if we can get you a board to use as a table. And send someone into town for more of your things." Two shirts and a pair of pants belonging to Perrault hung in Cinders's closet, but she had a feeling that he would need more clothing, at least. She had no idea how she would get a shirt on him, with his arm tied to his side, but fresh pants, at least, would be necessary if he wanted to leave the room any time soon. And perhaps a bath.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought -- she was desperately in need of one of those herself. But how would she arrange one, with Perrault in her room at all times? Not that she supposed he would mind. But it still seemed awkward. She would have to sit down with everyone soon, Perrault included, and hash out all the practical issues around managing his recovery.

"Cinders?"

She turned to him with a quick smile. "Sorry, just thinking. We got sidetracked yesterday, but I wanted to tell you about Mistress Giselle's suggestions for how we should proceed. First, we need to start giving your wounds some space to breathe..."

-x-

The next day, Perrault was able to stand without assistance and take a short turn around the room. The day after, he walked a few times up and down the hallway, and then spent the rest of the day in the easy chair by the window, soaking up the sun and reading a book. That night, Cinders slept in the bed with him, cozied up against his left side. Sometime in the hour before dawn, he reached for her, and she reached back, coming to him in the darkness; he pulled her close and she rode him, slowly, with a careful tenderness that brought them to a shared, shuddering climax. Afterwards, they drifted back into sleep, his lips pressed into her hair, her hand resting atop his heart.

That morning, Perrault declared his intention to venture the stairs. "And I want to shave," he said, stroking his chin as he studied himself in the mirror. After nearly a week's growth, it could no longer be called stubble -- it could only be described as the beginnings of a beard, brown with a streak of silver at his chin. Privately, Cinders thought it looked rather dashing on him, but she thought he might not appreciate that observation, so instead she just nodded.

"I'll have some hot water sent up," she said. The porter had brought his razor from his rooms in town along with more of his things: pants, shirts, and underclothes; his second-best coat and breastplate to replace the one that had been damaged in the fight with the brigands; several books. She readied his shaving kit while he put on pants and boots, slowly and with some difficulty -- a shirt was still out of the question, as that would have meant unbinding the arm, and Mistress Giselle had recommended leaving it in place for as long as he could stand it. A few days more, Cinders thought. Besides, the saber slashes across his chest needed more opportunity to heal while exposed to air. Soon enough, they would find a way to make it work.

The basin arrived, and Perrault splashed his face, then lathered it with soap. Cinders pulled up a chair and sat next to him. "Do you need help?"

"I can manage, I think." He looked down at her with a crooked smile. "Better not go anywhere, though." Not that Cinders would have, even if he'd asked her to -- an unsteady hand with a razor against his neck might have rather serious consequences. Instead she sat quietly, hands in her lap, watching while he drew the straight razor over his cheekbones, across his jawline, and down his neck with his left hand; he went slowly, and he took several hissing breaths whenever he misjudged an angle, but soon he was rinsing the remainder of the soap off. When it was finished, Cinders stood up and patted away a few spots of blood with her handkerchief, then stroked his newly-smooth face. 

"Better?"

Perrault peered at the glass to examine his handiwork. "Yes. I feel more myself now. Now, about those stairs." 

Cinders followed him out of the room and down the hallway as he walked down the corridor, then paused at the top step. "Are you ready?" 

"Let's go," he replied. He held out his left arm, and Cinders took it, careful not to hold too tightly -- if he could do this on his own, she should let him.

He took each stair one at a time, stepping down with his left foot, steadying himself, then following with his right. Despite his broken toe, his wrenched knee, and his off-balance gait, he made it all the way down without a false step, though it took several minutes. Once on flat ground, he leaned against the stairwell wall, closing his eyes to catch his breath. "That... was harder than I thought it would be."

"You did well," Cinders assured him. "You barely leaned on me at all."

Perrault looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Liar," he said.

Cinders shook her head. "I wouldn't. You need to know the truth of how your recovery is fairing. Or would you rather I spared your feelings?"

"You know the answer to that question." She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his nose, and he responded with a faint smile. "So, what does a man have to do to get some breakfast around here?"

"Most likely, just go into the dining room." Cinders wrapped her arm around him and led the way -- she smelled eggs and heard the clinking of forks along with the murmur of soft voices. Eggs, that was good, and easy enough to eat one handed.

"That smells wonderful." Perrault lifted his head to sniff the air. "And I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to sitting up and eating at the table like a civilized man. Some might consider breakfast in bed a luxury, but I find I've tired of it."

Together they walked through the hallway to the dining room, turned the corner through the doorway -- and together they froze. Because there, seated at the head of the table, Sophia at his right hand and Carmosa and Gloria on his left, was Prince Basile, a full plate of food in front of him, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. He set it aside as he rose, hands out, a warm smile on his face.

After a swift glance at Perrault to ensure that he wouldn't stumble if she let him go, Cinders swept into a curtsey. "Your Majesty. Welcome to my humble home."

"Cinders, Cinders." The prince shook his head with a click of his tongue. "Must I remind you again that I have as yet no right to that title?"

"Of course, my lord. My apologies." Cinders rose; Prince Basile took the back of her hand and kissed it before turning his attention to Perrault.

"My prince," Perrault said stiffly. "Forgive my poor manners if I do not bow, as well as my less than courtly dress."

"Please, I beg of you, think nothing of it." The prince laid a hand, carefully, on Perrault's left shoulder. "There is no need to stand on ceremony with me. I only came to check on an old friend who suffered grievous injuries. Although it appears that rumors of your imminent death have been much exaggerated." 

"I am on the mend, thanks to the excellent care of Cinders and her family." Perrault grimaced at his right hand. "Even if I never recover entirely."

"I have every confidence in you." The prince flashed his winning smile again, but Perrault completely failed to respond, only looking away, mouth pulled into a tight line. "Now, I hope you have an appetite, because our hostesses have prepared a stunning breakfast."

From Perrault's stiff nod, Cinders was sure that eating in this company was the last thing he wanted to do, but he took a seat anyway, Carmosa pulling out the empty chair on her right, as Cinders sat at the foot of the table and the prince returned to the head. Cinders caught Sophia's eyes and sent her a glare; Sophia widened her eyes and mouthed the word "No," disclaiming any responsibility. While the kitchen maid served breakfast to the newcomers, Cinders asked Prince Basile a polite question about the state of the kingdom and let him do most of the talking, with occasional prods and other social lubrication from Gloria and Carmosa; meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Cinders watched Perrault, who ate sparingly of the eggs and bread on his plate, hunger warring with pride and, it seemed, losing. 

When the meal was finished, Prince Basile stood and the rest followed his lead. He walked around the table to Perrault, once again resting his hand on the good shoulder. "I wish you a speedy and full recovery, friend. If this change in circumstances has you reconsidering your career choices, you know where to find me." Then he took each woman's hand in turn, lingering just a little longer over Sophia's. "It is good to see you all again. Please, come to the palace for dinner as soon as you are able." And then he was gone; as soon as he was out of sight, Perrault turned on his heel and pushed his way through the kitchen doors, and Cinders slammed her hands on the table, scowling at Sophia.

"Why are you looking at me?" Sophia looked wounded. "I had nothing to do with it! I didn't invite him."

"No, but I'm guessing you weren't sorry to see him," Cinders snapped, and the spot of color that rose to Sophia's cheeks told her she had struck home.

"I'm the one who answered the door, if you must know." Gloria drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms. "What was I supposed to do? Turn away the prince of the realm?"

"Yes!" Cinders sank back down in her chair and dropped her head into her hands with a groan. This was a disaster.

A hand fell on her back; Cinders looked up to see Carmosa, standing above her, looking concerned. "Go to him."

Cinders glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen door, then stood. "You're right, he may want to talk, or even just some company." And maybe some more food, since he'd eaten so little. "Do you all mind cleaning up here?" She didn't wait for an answer before leaving the room, ready to provide whatever comfort she could. 

The kitchen was unoccupied but for the cook, who stood over the stove and stirred a pot of something, fragrant with garlic and wine. "Good morning, Mistress Cinders," she said without looking up. "If you're looking for the captain, he went out into the garden."

Cinders murmured her thanks as she walked out the back door, sparing a quick glance at the bed in the corner where she had once slept. She couldn't be in the kitchen without noticing it and considering how far she'd come since those days. But today it was little more than a passing thought; she had already turned her attention to the figure that stood alone under the apple tree, resting against the trunk, his back to the house, his head bowed.

She approached him with light steps, but not so soft that he wouldn't hear her coming, and when she came up behind him and laid a hand on his back, he didn't flinch. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault." Perrault raised his eyes over the hedge that bounded the sides of the back garden, in the direction of the road to town. "I should have known he'd come sooner rather than later."

"I'll make sure my sisters and the servants know to refuse guests." Cinders had a feeling that Carmosa already knew better without being told. "I thought canceling this week's dinner would be enough of a hint, but--"

Perrault cleared his throat, and she turned to look up at him; he had moved to look at her, his back now against the tree trunk. Midmorning sun dappled through the leaves and caught the planes of his face. "Too late. He's going to keep coming back. In hopes of convincing me to take that damned spymaster position at his court, now that I'm no good for anything else." His left hand clenched into a fist as he looked down at his right, resting uselessly above his waist. 

"Don't say that." Cinders laid her hand over his, cupping the fingers that lay curled against his belly. The hand was warm, but fortunately not with the heat of a fever -- so far, he'd shown no signs of developing one, and the swelling also seemed to be less. "It's too soon; you don't know what will happen. And even if you don't get it back..."

"Then I lose everything I ever was." Perrault turned his body away from her to yank his hand free from hers. "How can I go into battle without my sword arm? How can I protect anyone? If I can't fight anymore, I don't even know who I am."

"You'll learn." Cinders stepped close again. She would give him space when he needed it, but not now. If he withdrew from her here, she might never get him back. "Plenty of men retire from the soldiering life and find new purpose."

"And many others die on the battlefield, or waste away in a pointless retirement." He lowered his eyes, and she rested a finger beneath his chin, lifting it so he had to face her.

"You won't." She brought her arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. "I won't let you. I refuse to believe there's nothing more to you than the next battle."

He rested his chin atop her head and sighed, the shudder vibrating through his whole body. "I know." He didn't sound as though he entirely believed her. But his hand tightened on her lower back, and he didn't let her go for a long time.

-x-

After lunch, Perrault settled in the sun room, where the light and air would do him good, but he'd be shielded from the less savory elements of outdoors. After finishing her chores for the day, Cinders joined him with her sewing and a cup of tea. He alternately read and dozed; halfway through one of his naps, Cinders set down her work to watch him. His head rested against the back of the upholstered chair, his book was open and upside-down in his lap, and his hands crossed over his bare stomach, the left lying atop the right, which was bound in place. Cinders smiled. They shared so few quiet moments, with no need for either of them to rush off to the next responsibility. She would have loved to savor it, but the reason for the calm was never too far from her mind - she only needed to look at Perrault's right arm, swathed from shoulder to fingertips in white linen, to remember what kept him dozing in the armchair, a beam of late afternoon sunlight falling across his face.

Her smile faded as she thought about the prince and his visit. Perrault was likely right -- Basile would, indeed, attempt to encourage him to take a position at court, an offer he had already turned down once. Would these new circumstances change Perrault's mind? Would she want them to?

It was not a comfortable subject, and besides, it was too soon to think about any of that. Maybe Mistress Giselle was wrong, and Perrault's arm would heal after all, good as new. For the thousandth time since this ordeal had begun, Cinders wished for Ghede -- her pragmatic advice, her healing skills, her solid companionship. Carmosa was her mentor, Sophia her best friend, but neither of them were a proper substitute for what Ghede could bring her. But Ghede was long gone, with no way to contact her, so Cinders would have to keep muddling through on her own.

Perrault stirred, tossing his head to the side with a snuffling noise, then opened his eyes to see her watching him. "What is it?"

"Just watching you. Thinking." Cinders rose to her feet and leaned over him to place light kiss on the bridge of his nose. "Thinking that it's time for me to check on dinner. I'll be right back-- Don't go anywhere."

He snorted, but smiled as he did so. "Never fear. I'll be right here." And so Cinders left him there as she headed for the kitchen, unsure whether to be encouraged or not.

-x-

Cinders pushed back the curtains and stepped away from the window. The sun blazed in the clear blue summer sky, grasshoppers buzzed in the distance, and the plum trees were heavy with fruit. Perrault was already up and out of the room -- his toe had completely healed, his knee was back to normal, and for the most part he had his strength back. He had always been an early riser, by his nature, so it felt like a return to normal life to have him already gone by the time Cinders woke.

But it was still too soon to say if a normal life would ever be theirs again. Not until he tried to use his right arm. Cinders tied the curtains in place and frowned. Perrault claimed that it no longer pained him, just a twinge now and then, and he had stopped drinking the poppy's-milk potion some weeks ago. The swelling was gone, and the shoulder seemed to be back to the right shape, a smooth curve beneath the bandages. But it remained bound to his side, and he still could not so much as wriggle a finger on his right hand.

Cinders dressed and headed to the dining room; she saw the remains of breakfast, but no Perrault. Sophia was there, however, sitting down and sipping her tea. She looked up and raised an eyebrow at Cinders. "Late start?"

"I woke up awhile ago. I was just thinking about something." Cinders cast a glance at the empty seat surrounded by nearly empty plates, and Sophia nodded toward the door.

"He went outside. Finished eating about the time I got here. I think there's leftovers in the kitchen; want some?"

"Maybe later," Cinders replied, and turned to go out the front door. Perrault didn't often go out on his own, so she had a pretty good idea of where he might have gone. Her hunch was rewarded when she opened the door to the stable and saw him in front of the stall nearest the door, stroking his horse's neck. The mare, a dappled gray with a dark mane, warm brown eyes, and the incongruous name of Millie, nickered and pressed her nose into his hand. He was talking to her under his breath, then looked up with a guilty start when he saw Cinders standing at his arm.

"Good morning," he said, setting the curry brush onto a bale of hay.

Cinders kissed Perrault's cheek and patted Millie on the nose. "Good morning. She seems happy to see you."

"As I am her." Perrault rested his hand on the horse's neck. "She looks to be in good form."

"The groom exercises her regularly, along with the others." 

Cinders watched as Perrault extracted an apple from his pocket; Millie let out an eager whinny before snuffling at the fruit and taking a bite. When it was almost down to the core, Perrault let go of the bottom and stepped away, not facing her. "I have been thinking."

She took a step closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. "So have I. I had a reason to come looking for you, besides the pleasure of your company."

Perrault turned and raised an eyebrow. "All right. You first."

"I think it's time to take the bindings off your arm." His brows shot up even further, and she nodded. "Mistress Giselle said as long as you could stand it, but at least six weeks. It's now been seven, and you've been very patient. But not for much longer -- I can tell." He looked away again with a soft grunt, and she smiled. "You're getting restless, love. How many days in a row have you come out to the stables now? How many afternoons spent out in the yard, not reading or talking, but just looking over the horizon? You're ready."

He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was that obvious."

"It probably isn't, to anyone else." She kissed him again, a light brush of her lips on his. "But I know you pretty well by now." He chuckled. "All right, that's what I came here to say. Your turn."

Perrault shook his head. "It can wait. Let's get this done." 

After a quick stop by the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, Cinders and Perrault went upstairs to her room. Perrault took the chair and sat up, back perfectly straight like a solider at attention. Cinders untucked the end of the wrappings and began to pull them off, carefully so as not to jostle him. As she removed more of the cloth, she could smell the sour reek of old sweat, and she wrinkled her nose. "First thing after this is done, you're taking a bath. I'll have the maid bring up a cauldron." His nod was quick and stiff, and she continued her work, the last long strip of cloth revealing his skin, soft and pale and clammy. The wound from the horse's hoof was still visible -- the bruises had faded into pale yellow streaks, but the broken skin had only scabbed over. "Looks all right," she said. "Now that it's exposed to air, it should heal the rest of the way." She glanced over the rest of his bare chest, taking inventory. In truth, it wasn't bad; the long saber slash would be the more visible scar, in the long run. "All right," she said. "How does it feel?"

"Odd." Perrault looked down at the arm, still tucked against his waist. "The air seems colder, like a breeze is tickling my skin." He closed his eyes as if to concentrate; Cinders watched his hand, but his fingers remained motionless.

"Still can't move them?" she asked. He shook his head. "Try the elbow." 

His eyes still closed, his brow furrowing with concentration, the elbow straightened, and his hand fell to his side. Perrault gasped, his eyes flying open, and grasped his right shoulder with his left hand. Cinders moved toward him, and he warded her off with a grimace. "I can do it, but it feels.... wrong. I have no better way to describe it."

"Do you want to see if you can move the shoulder?" 

Perrault didn't move, except for his left hand, fingers clamping into a fist in his lap. "I'd better not."

"All right." Cinders came around the back of the chair. "Just let me see how the joint is sitting." She laid a hand on top of his shoulder, next to his neck, and felt her way over the collarbone. It was not as smooth as it had looked under the bandages -- she caught several dips and lumps where the bones had not knit cleanly. By some miracle, the top of his arm was lined up properly with the rest of the joint, but he winced when she touched it. At least it was not any warmer than the rest of him, and the upper arm felt straight enough, and she let out a sigh of relief.

He leaned his head back on his neck to look up at her. "What?"

"No fever," she said, and to her surprise there was a lump in her throat. "You're going to live."

"I suppose." He looked down at his arm again, hanging limp by his side. "If you call the life of a cripple 'living'."

 _Don't say that._ Cinders bit the inside of her lip to force back the words. He was disappointed, of course -- he had to be. How could he share her relief when his worst nightmare was being confirmed? Instead, she squeezed his upper arm and pulled away. "Shall I send for that bath?"

"Later." Perrault looked forward again, staring out the window. "For the moment, I would like to be alone."

"Of course." It was a shock; he would need some time to absorb the blow. She left him there, unmoving as a statue, and let the door close behind her.

-x-

Perrault did not emerge until early evening, appearing at the dinner table with damp hair and a clean shirt. It was the first time he had worn a shirt since the patrol had brought him to the manor house, half-dead and covered in blood, and despite today's disappointment, Cinders couldn't help a smile -- how straight he stood now, the white shirt against skin still tanned despite many weeks spent indoors, the solemn expression on his rugged face. He nodded at her, then took a seat by her side; he had missed a button on his shirt, and Cinders surreptitiously fixed it for him before turning to her plate.

The conversation around the table was light, mostly regarding local politics and doings around the estate, until the kitchen girl came with dessert. After she had served the peach pie, Perrault pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

"My ladies." He made a formal bow toward each woman at the table. "I can never properly express how grateful I am to you, all of you, for the care you have provided to me the past two months. But I have taken advantage of your hospitality for long enough. The time has come for me to return home."

Gloria lowered her eyes to her plate; Carmosa nodded in understanding; and the bottom fell out of Cinders's stomach. Had she heard him right? Was Perrault going to leave? She set down her fork and turned to look at him, but he would not meet her eyes, instead looking straight ahead, as if waiting for someone to speak.

As it happened, someone was Sophia. "Are you sure?" She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, looking him up and down. "You can't even button your shirt right."

It was, quite possibly the worst thing she could have said; Perrault's lips narrowed and his cheeks went pale, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. "Thank you for your concern, Sophia, but I can manage." He glanced down at his uneaten pie, then stepped back from the table. "I will leave in the morning."

He left, and the silence returned. Sophia had the grace to look embarrassed. Carmosa's expression was calm, and Gloria's had a touch of bewilderment. Cinders slumped back in her chair, every bit of her appetite fled. Why would he leave when he still needed her help? Had she made a mistake?

Finally she stood up, shoving her chair backwards with a creak. "I have to go." She hurried out of the dining room, up the stairs and into the bedroom she had already begun thinking of as theirs. The sun was setting, rosy beams falling through the window; Perrault stood there, his left hand resting on the sill, the golden light catching the brown of his hair so that it glowed. All of Cinders's hurt feelings and frustration drained away as she closed the door quietly behind her and saw the desolation written on his face.

"Perrault," she said, softly.

He turned to look at her, then lowered his chin. "I'm sorry, Cinders. I don't mean you to think-- I appreciate everything you have done. I owe you my life, and more. And I love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that. But--" He stepped near to her and molded his hand to the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, pleading eyes meeting hers in the dusky light. "What comes next, I have to do on my own. At least, I have to try."

Cinders rested her hands on his chest. "I know how it feels to crave independence. But if ever you do need me--"

Perrault smiled and threaded his fingers into her hair. "I know where to find you." And then he leaned down for a kiss, long and slow and searching. She closed her eyes, let him part her lips and lean her backward, his arm sliding down her neck to her lower back, holding her up. Further back he tipped her, and then they fell to the bed together, his body nestled atop hers, her arms wrapped around him. He pulled her hair free of its pins and kissed her temples, her cheek, the side of her neck, undid the laces of her bodice and teased a breast free, fastening his mouth on her nipple and sucking hard. She threw her head back and sighed, clinging to him as he roamed her with his mouth, kissing her breasts and her shoulders, her neck and her jaw, tasting every inch of her skin as if to memorize it. They had made love in this bed many times since his injuries, with great tenderness and care, but there was a new urgency to his kisses tonight, part need and part melancholy, and she responded to his seeking, rising into him, fingers twining into his hair. 

She wriggled out of her skirts, then unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands up and down his chest, truly bare for the first time in weeks, careful to avoid the still-tender scars while still taking in the feel of his skin. Slowly, still a bit clumsy with only one hand, he undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and let them fall, and then he climbed back over her, his left hand burying itself in her hair again, and then she felt it: his right hand, resting on her bare shoulder. Cinders tried to sit up, to shift so that he would not have to put any weight on it, but he stopped her, pressing his left index finger to her lips.

"Let me," he murmured, eyes shadowed. "Let me be here. Please."

Cinders nodded without a word, and he replaced the finger with his lips, kissing her, taking her breath away; then he thrust inside her, sliding up and in, and she gasped with the shock and glory of it: feeling him press deeper, her own hands slipping down his back to grasp his buttocks and push him even further in. He leaned on his left arm, almost his full weight resting on her torso, and a part of her registered how much thinner he was, how much muscle he had lost during his recovery. This was the first time since the battle that he had claimed her like this, and she realized how much she had missed it, even as she worried that he might strain his arms too much.

Then he shifted his hips and she gasped as he found the spot, the rhythm that was guaranteed to bring her to the brink and beyond. Deeper and harder, her fingers gripping him tight as she moved with him, and then the release coursed through her, her whole body trembling as he thrust a few more times and then collapsed, his whole weight pressing her down into the mattress. With a groan, he rolled off her, onto his left side, and she curled into him, her face buried in his neck, his right hand resting against her back.

For a long time they just lay together in silence, quiet, comfortable but for the knowledge that he would be leaving tomorrow, striking out into a great unknown. She shifted against him and lay a hand over his heart, and he covered it with his own -- his fingers still unmoving, but he pressed his palm close, and sighed.

 _You are certain about this?_ It was the question Cinders had promised herself not to ask, and so she did not, only kissed the side of his neck. "When will I see you again?"

"You are always welcome to drop by." Perrault pressed his lips against the crown of her head. "And once I've figured a few things out, I'm sure I'll be back here to visit, just as I always did. Nothing needs to change between us. We're just getting things back to normal, that's all."

"That's all," Cinders repeated, and let her head fall against his chest. Perhaps he was right, and some normalcy was what he needed. And she could learn to ignore the little voice telling her that a new normal might be a better choice for both of them, in the long run.


	3. Chapter 3

When dawn finally crept in the half-open window, it found Cinders lying in her bed, eyes already wide open. She had slept poorly, her worries and fears returning to haunt her in the night. At one point she had risen, moving to the chair where she kept watch that first night, to keep from waking him in her restlessness but also to observe him, his face relaxed in peaceful sleep, and wonder when she might see him in such a state again.

When exhaustion finally coaxed her back into the bed, she fell into a restless sleep, filled with visions of Perrault falling, getting stuck, staring down a team of bandits and unable to defend himself... at last she had forced herself awake and lay in bed instead, staring up at the ceiling, focusing on the wooden beams overhead to clear the images from her mind. As the light spread through the room, Perrault stirred, mumbled something, and then opened his eyes.

"Good morning," he said. It was how he greeted her almost every day, but she could hear the tinge of nerves in his voice, and excitement, too. Cinders wanted to be happy for him, glad that he was ready to resume his old life, but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was rushing things. But as before, she bit her worries back. He had asked for time to figure it out for himself, and for now, she would give it to him. 

"Good morning," she replied, leaning down for a simple kiss. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "All right. Restless." Kicking off the covers, he sat up and stretched the good arm, then got out of the bed. "Do you think breakfast is ready?"

Cinders stood up and started to dress. "I'll go see to it, unless you'd like some assistance?"

Perrault glanced at his hand, then back up with a shake of his head. "I have it under control. And I packed yesterday, what little I have here. Go ahead; I'll be down shortly."

She tied back her hair. "Very well. I'll see you downstairs then." And she left the room before she could change her mind, heading toward the scent of fresh bread already wafting through the house from the kitchen. 

"Good morning, m'lady." The cook turned to her with a curtsey, holding the pan of rolls responsible for the delicious smell that had drawn Cinders here. "Any requests for breakfast today?"

Cinders took a hot roll out of the pan and bounced it between her hands. "Just this for me, but something heartier for the captain -- he rides today."

The cook bowed her head. "Aye, m'lady. I'll see to it." She headed into the cold room and emerged with a rasher of bacon; in the meantime, Cinders slathered the roll with butter and jam, poured herself a cup of tea, and went out to the porch to wait.

Almost an hour passed before Perrault emerged from the stable, leading his horse while the groom followed, carrying his satchel and a mounting stool. Perrault draped Millie's reins around a fence post and patted her flank before coming up the steps to Cinders with a half smile.

She had to admit that he looked better than he had in weeks, though his hair needed a trim: shaved, dressed in a clean shirt and his second-best coat. He had not buckled on his breastplate, and Cinders wondered if he would ever be able to manage that on his own. When he reached her side, he took her hand in his gloved fingers, then kissed it. "Thank you. Again." Cinders tightened her grip, and he straightened, squeezing her hand before pulling away. Then he went back to Millie and grabbed the reigns before stepping on the mounting stool -- Cinders had never seen him use one before -- to haul himself onto the horse. For a moment, he wobbled, and Cinders feared he might overbalance, but he held steady. He caught her eyes with a nod, and then he twitched the reins. Millie turned, and they rode away, Cinders watching all the while.

"So, he's really leaving." Cinders turned to see Sophia standing on the porch next to her; she shaded her eyes and squinted down the path at the cloud of dust, all that remained of Perrault's departure. "Why is he going through with this? Doesn't he see that he still needs help?"

Cinders sighed. "Even if he does, he can't admit it to himself. And me badgering him about it isn't going to change his mind -- if anything, he'd just dig in his heels and be more determined to make it on his own."

Sophia shook her head. "Men are stupid," she said. 

Cinders didn't want to laugh, but she found a chuckle escaping her lips anyway. "Look on the bright side." She nudged her stepsister's shoulder. "You can start having the prince over for dinner again." Sophia shot her a dirty look, eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised. Cinders giggled again, then stepped away. "I should probably talk to Gloria about rescheduling that party anyway, that one we had to cancel in the spring. It looks to be good weather for a picnic this week." And she went back inside, her thoughts turning to the running of the household and all the duties she had allowed to take second place for too long.

-x-

Almost two weeks passed before an errand took Cinders into town. She had spent much of that time torn between wanting to support Perrault in his desire to be alone and aching to be with him. "And I feel so silly," she told Sophia as the two of them passed together through the city gates, baskets under their arms. "I've gone longer than this without seeing him many times, often for no particular reason. Why should I miss him so much now?"

Sophia shrugged. "It's not silly. You got used to having him around, that's all."

"I suppose that's part of it." Cinders frowned, then shook her head. "Ah well. I'll see him today, that's what matters." She gestured toward the greengrocer with her basket. "Can you get the fruit and vegetables while I check in with the butcher? And then I'll meet you at the tavern for lunch."

"You got it, sis." Sophia turned across the town square, and Cinders went the other direction, taking the cobblestone street that went up the hill. When she reached the butcher's shop, the door opened and Tobias stepped out. He saw her and a grin broke across his face. "Cinders!"

"Hello, Tobias." Cinders returned the smile warmly. Her childhood friend remained one of her dearest, even though she didn't see him often. He had made a name for himself in the years since the masquerade ball, building his shop into a successful business, importing goods from all over the kingdom. Just over a year ago, he had married the innkeeper's middle daughter, and Cinders had danced at his wedding. He was a good man, and she owed him everything she had; how could she not be happy for him. "You look good. How is Alicia?"

"Well, very well." His smile broadened, and a flush of pink came over his cheeks. "And, ah, expecting. In early winter, or so the midwife says."

Cinders laughed and caught Tobias in a quick hug. "That's wonderful! Congratulations." She pecked him on the cheek. 

"It's a bit scary, I have to confess. But I'm over the moon at the same time." Tobias tipped his head to the side, a concerned look coming into his eyes. "And how are you? I heard about Perrault's accident. Sounds like it was serious."

"Yes." Cinders shivered, as she always did when she remembered how he had looked that day. "I wasn't sure if he would make it. But he's nearly recovered now."

Tobias nodded. "I've seen him around a few times -- walking through town, eating at the inn. Although I haven't had the chance to speak with him."

"Of course, you're busy." Cinders stepped aside. "I won't keep you."

Tobias checked the angle of the sun in the sky. "Unfortunately, you're right, I do need to go, but I'd love to catch up more. Come by the shop tonight? I'll take you to dinner at the inn."

Cinders thought through her schedule, then nodded. "I think I can swing that."

"Fantastic." Tobias clapped her shoulder with a warm hand. "I'm glad Perrault is all right, and I hope you are, too. See you soon."

-x-

Once her errands were finished, Cinders made her way back to the tavern on the town square for her lunch with Sophia. Though she had not made specific arrangements with Perrault, she knew he often took his own lunch at about the same time, and her hopes were rewarded when she entered the dark room and saw him there, seated alone at his usual table. As he looked up, her heart came into her throat: he looked tired, with a shadow-smudge beneath his eyes, and although he smiled at her, it seemed a bit frayed at the edges. But still he stood at her approach, and pulled out a chair with his left hand. Neither of them were much for showing affection in public, so Cinders was content to touch his shoulder and drop a quick kiss on his cheek, rough with stubble, before taking a seat. He settled down next to her, and covered her hand with his.

"Hello." Cinders smiled at him, then looked at the half-empty plates in front of him. "You've already eaten?" 

He nodded. "But I'll sit with you. What brings you to town?"

"We're having a dinner party tomorrow evening, and there were some ingredients I wanted to pick out myself. Sophia is meeting me here." She turned her hand to lace their fingers together. "I also ran into Tobias, and we made plans for dinner tonight. Is it too much trouble if I stay over afterward?"

"That's fine," Perrault said. Cinders heard a hesitation before he spoke, but chose to ignore it. "It looks like Sophia is here, so I won't keep you any longer. See you tonight." He quickly squeezed her hand, then let his fingers slide free as he stood to go, giving her no time to make an objection. He nodded to Sophia as she walked in and then left, the door swinging shut behind him.

Sophia stood in the middle of the room and watched him go, then went to Cinders with a raised eyebrow. "That was weird," she said as she sat down.

"I know." Cinders narrowed her eyes and stared at the door for a moment. Then she shook her head with a sigh. "But he won't talk about it yet, and I'm not sure I'd want him to, at least not here and now. Will you be all right with final preparations for tomorrow if I spend the night in town? I'm having dinner with Tobias, so I thought of staying over regardless, but..."

"But you also want to spend some time with Perrault," Sophia finished for her. "Sure, I understand. I can take care of getting everything back to the manor, and if Gloria will help me with anything, it's a party."

Cinders sighed again, with relief this time. "Thank you for understanding. And sorry to stick you with more of the work."

Sophia shrugged. "No problem, I don't mind. Come on, let's eat, and then figure out how to divide up the rest of the work."

-x-

"And that's when I told him to get out of my store and never come back." Tobias pointed his fork in the air for emphasis, then used it to spear a strawberry. "I haven't seen him since."

Cinders shook her head in sympathy. "Sometimes a business relationship just isn't worth the headache."

"Indeed." Tobias smiled at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hijack our whole night with boring work stories. You must think me terribly self-centered."

"No more so than usual." Cinders grinned, and he chuckled. "But not at all; it's been nice to see you, talk about something other than household affairs or--."

She stopped short, not wanting to bring him up, but as usual, Tobias knew what she had almost said, and responded with a sober nod. "Of course. I don't want to pry into his business too much; you know I like Perrault, but we've never been close, either. And I'm sure it was an awful time. So if you don't want to discuss it, I understand."

Cinders considered the possibility of opening up to Tobias. He was a dear friend; she loved and trusted him as much as she did Sophia. It would be good to get some advice, new perspective on how to proceed. But he was so different from Perrault, a man of business rather than action, and she doubted he would really understand the demons driving Perrault right now. "I appreciate that. Perhaps another time?" She finished her last bite of pie, then pushed back her chair. "Thank you for dinner, Tobias. We're having a dinner party tomorrow, and I hope you'll come."

He stood before helped Cinders to her feet. "Wouldn't miss it," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Do you need someone to see you home?"

"No, I'm staying over in town. Thank you though. Good night."

"Good night," he replied with a bow, and Cinders left the inn for the boarding house where Perrault had found rooms after leaving Prince Basile's service. The night watchman waved her in with a nod, and she took the stairs up to the third floor. She tapped his door with a knuckle; when no answer came, she tried the knob and found it open. 

Slowly, she pushed it open, sticking her head into the darkened room. "Perrault? Love? It's me." Once again, there was no response, so she came inside, pulling the door shut behind her. "Perrault?"

The small sitting room was empty, undisturbed from how Cinders had last seen it, but for a half-empty glass sitting on the side table by the easy chair, next to an open book; in fact, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that it seemed much less tidy than usual. Perrault had always kept his things in rigid order, never allowing papers to pile up, or just throwing his coat over the back of a chair. The door to his bedroom was ajar, and with some apprehension, she pushed it open. 

There he was, sitting in a straight-backed chair, staring out the window; he lifted his left hand in acknowledgment but did not turn to greet her. This room was in even greater disarray: unfolded clothes on the dresser, his shaving kit strewn around the basin, the bed unmade.

"Perrault." She spoke his name gently, stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm here."

He twitched away, otherwise unmoving. "I should have told you not to come." He lowered his chin and his eyes. "You shouldn't have to see me like this."

A rebuttal rose to Cinders's lips, but she warned it back. She didn't care if his rooms were messy, but clearly he did. "I always want to see you, however you are." She knelt next to the chair and rested her hand on its back instead of his. "What do you need me to do?"

"Need?" He lifted his gaze back out the window, over the dusky streets of town, the walkways dimly lit by gas lanterns. "I need my life back. I need to be able to take care of myself. I need to be a whole man again. I need you to go, and find yourself the kind of man you deserve."

She tipped her head to the side. "Surely you don't mean that."

He let out a bark of a laugh, harsh on his dry throat. "Why wouldn't I? You're young, you're brilliant, you're beautiful. You have the entire future ahead of you. Surely you want better at your side than a broken old half-man."

Cinders tightened her grip on the chair. "Whatever you are, that's what I want, and what I deserve. No more, no less."

At last, he turned to look at her, his eyes shadowed. "You don't understand. I'll drag you down, a dead weight on your back. Look at this. Look at me!" His voice rose into an anguished cry, then dropped down to a growling near-whisper. "It takes me three times longer than it ought to do anything. Fold a shirt. Comb my hair. Buckle a belt. Pour a damned glass of whiskey without spilling. I can't even cut a piece of meat properly; how am I supposed to wield a sword? My life is over, and I--" He broke off, the words hanging in the air, choked off by his frustration, his anger. Cinders said nothing, only raised her hand to stroke his hair, lank with stale sweat. He closed his eyes and stiffened under her touch, but this time he did not pull away. 

"Perrault." She cupped her hand around the back of his neck. "Your life has changed, but it's not over." He started to shake his head, but she only firmed up her grip. "I know you think you're helping me by giving me a way out, but I don't want one. Look at me, love." He turned his head toward her, eyes open, and she caught the shine of unshed tears there. She cupped his cheek with her hand, stroked the planes of his face with her thumb. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise you." 

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded, and Cinders leaned down to kiss him, pressing her lips first to his brow and then to his mouth, a gentle caress that became more insistent as he responded, opening to her, his hand coming up behind her head, tangling roughly in her hair, pullinb her closer. He murmured her name against her lips, and she swung herself onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. She lifted his right hand onto her thigh and let it rest there; he exerted what little control he had to push it up underneath her skirts. Cinders slid her mouth down Perrault's neck, unbuttoned his shirt, opened his breeches, and wrapped her hand around him. He groaned and bucked into her touch. "Cinders, I-- oh."

"Let me," she said, and she slid off his lap and onto the floor, pulling his pants further down and setting on her knees before taking him into her mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath, air whistling between his teeth. Cinders stroked his cock with her tongue, tracing its whole length from tip to base and back again, swirling around the head, then enveloping him as he let the breath out in a long sigh, his whole body shuddering. 

She flicked her eyes upward to check his face, and his gaze was focused on her, mouth half-open, near-panting with pleasure and desire. His left hand slid up her neck to thread his fingers through her hair again; she closed her eyes to concentrate on her work, on lips and tongue and just the slightest rake of her teeth against the loose skin, and he gasped, almost a whimper of need. Speeding up her rhythm, taking him deeper, tightening her hands on his thighs, she brought him to the edge and beyond, and he bucked against her with an incoherent cry of pleasure.

Afterwards, Cinders climbed back onto Perrault's lap. His left arm held her securely in place as she rested against his chest, and he buried his face in her neck. "I'm sorry I tried to drive you away. All my other worst fears were realized-- why should the final one not come to pass, as well?" He sighed and tightened his grip. "The only thing more frightening than the thought of losing you is the knowledge that I can no longer protect you."

She kissed his forehead and smoothed down his hair. "I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, you know."

Perrault raised his head with a fond smile. "I do. One of the many reasons I love you. But--"

"No buts." Cinders kissed him again, and he kissed her back, long and hard, savoring the taste of himself on her lips. "I said we were in this together, and I meant it. Now let's get ready for bed, shall we? We can take care of the rest in the morning."

"Bed," Perrault agreed, tightening his fingers around Cinders's elbow. She nestled more closely in his lap, tucking her fingers beneath his open shirt and laying it flat against his chest. "In a moment; this is pleasant."

Cinders chuckled, then tucked her head beneath his chin. They sat that way for a long time; she closed her eyes and felt his hair brushing her face, his chest rising and falling beneath her hand, his fingers tracing slow strokes up and down her arm, gentle over the sleeve of her blouse. After awhile, she moved to kiss him again, to press her mouth to his, and he received her there, lips warm and firm, breath sour with ale and sweet with life, tongue seeking and then gaining entry to explore her depths, and she let out a soft moan.

"Mmm." He broke away, pulled back enough to meet her eyes, and smiled. "Bed. Yes."

Without breaking his gaze, Cinders stood, then helped him up with a hand. "You're half-naked already; shall we finish the job?" He stepped out of the pants that had fallen to the ground as she pulled off his shirt, and then she unlaced the ties of her bodice. She sat on the edge of the bed while she finished undressing, and wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. "When was the last time you had these washed?" Perrault shrugged without looking at her, and she sighed. It would be one thing if he had attempted to clean and failed, but he paid a local girl to do his washing and air out the bedding on a regular basis. His injuries didn't prevent him from doing that. Unless he was out of money? But he had a good savings, from his years working for the King and the bounties he'd collected since. 

She held her tongue until they lay in bed together, her cheek pillowed on his chest, his breath warm in her ear. "Talk to me," she said, gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

It took him a long time to answer. "Nothing you don't already know," he finally replied. "I can't fight anymore. Not with only my off hand. If I'm not a fighting man, then I don't know what I am. There's nothing left. I'm empty, useless." He paused again, and when he continued his voice was almost too soft to hear. "Prince Basile came to visit yesterday. He made his damned offer again, and I don't know if I can keep turning him down. The thought of going back to the palace to spy on the nobles and pretend their petty intrigues are important turns my stomach no less than it ever did. When I imagine what it would be like, I feel dead inside. But then I look at what remains of my life and wonder if that's any better." He rolled onto his back to stare the ceiling. "I just don't know what to do."

Cinders brought her hand around his cheek and brought him around to face her, touching their foreheads together. "Whatever you decide, you don't have to do it alone."

He closed his eyes. "But I do have to decide for myself."

"Yes." She placed a light kiss on his lips. "But there's no shame in asking for advice, or for help. Do you remember when we met, how desperate I was to remake my life?"

He breathed out with a small chuckle. "How could I forget? Those were an eventful few days."

She smiled. "I needed a change. And before that could happen, I had to figure out what direction to go. But the changes themselves, I could never have made without help. From Madame Ghede, from Tobias, the prince. And from you."

"Me?" Perrault raised his eyebrows. "Whatever did I do?"

"You gave me the idea of looking into my father's will." She snuggled into his side. "I would never have thought to take the house back from Carmosa otherwise. And that plan helped set all the others in motion."

"Hm." His hand traced a path down her side to settle on her hip. "That night by the lake, you offered to run away with me. Would you still do that? Leave town, start a new life?"

Cinders raised her head and looked down at him, surprised. Was he joking? There was no sign of it on his face. "Would you really want to do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe." His eyes flicked away.

"Ah." Cinders settled back down against his chest. "My circumstances have changed a great deal -- I have more to leave behind. But if it was what you truly needed?" She turned the possibility around in her mind, the thought of choosing between Perrault and her family, how it would feel to leave one or the other behind. Perrault needed her, but so did Carmosa and her sisters. How could she abandon any of them? "I have to admit, it's a decision I'd rather not make. But I would consider it."

He nodded. "It might be easier. To be somewhere different, without the weight of memories and expectations. If I could forget who I once was, and start over again..." His voice trailed off: small, quiet, filled with grief. Cinders closed her eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. He was still the man he'd always been, arm or no arm; how could she ever make him see?

But barring that, maybe it was all right to help him forget, at least for a little while. She shifted again, rolled on top of him, and took his mouth in a kiss, soft and lingering. He responded, his torso rising up against her, left hand settling in the hollow of her back, and she drew him closer, into the temporary oblivions of passion and sleep.

-x-

"You should come home with me," said Cinders the next morning as she got dressed in the dim light, out of bed at the crack of dawn, her mind already turning toward her mile-long to-do list. The price of taking a night off. "We've got a splendid dinner planned."

Perrault was sitting up in bed, his back against the pillows, and his mouth twitched into a half-frown. "I'm not sure I'm ready to be in society, answering all the questions that I'm sure people will have."

Cinders laced up her bodice and tied the knot, then fluffed out her hair. "They're just concerned about you."

"Hmph." He looked away. "Concerned about town gossip, you mean. I know you mean well, but I'd rather not."

"All right, then." Cinders stepped into her shoes and walked to the side of the bed to kiss his forehead. "Perhaps tomorrow? I miss having you around." She glanced around the messy apartment, then looked back at him. "And I suspect this place could do with a good airing out."

Perrault took his own survey of the room before meeting Cinders's eyes with a nod. "Tomorrow, then." Cinders smiled and kissed him again, this time on the mouth; he kissed her back, slowly. "Have a good day."

-x-

The manor was in its usual state of pre-party chaos, but Cinders was pleased to see that her stepsisters and stepmother had everything well in hand -- food cooking, tables being set in the garden, which was already manicured to a fare-the-well. After checking in with the cook, she found herself standing there, her hands on the table, watching Carmosa discuss the floral arrangement with the gardener even as her mind turned back to her worries about Perrault, only jolted free of those thoughts when Carmosa walked over to her. "You stayed in town last night?"

In the old days, it would have been an accusation, a hint that Cinders was lax in performing her duties, but with the new levels of trust between them, Cinders could read it as an honest question, and she responded with a nod. 

"I had dinner with Tobias -- he's doing very well, you'll see him tonight -- and then visited Perrault. Who is doing... less well." Cinders looked down at her hands; she hadn't even realized how tightly she'd wound her fingers together, and she loosened her grip. "May I ask you something?" Carmosa nodded, and she continued. "Your first husband was a fighting man. Did he ever suffer a serious injury?"

Carmosa crossed an arm over her chest to cup her other elbow, and tapped her finger with her chin. "You do understand that my first marriage was different from your relationship with Perrault. An arranged marriage, and he was gone so much, at the wars -- I barely knew him. I respected him, but I never loved him. And he barely knew the girls."

"I do understand." Sophia had told Cinders as much, many years ago. "But still, if you have any advice, I'd be keen to hear it."

"Very well." Carmosa cupped her chin again, lost in thought, staring into the distance. "In truth, it's hard to say how Jules would have done, had he been forced to put down his sword. He never came home with a serious injury, and when he finally received one, it was his last. So perhaps that's your answer." She dropped her arms and turned to Cinders, eyebrow raised. "Perrault has survived injuries that would have killed other men, twice over. That suggests, to me, that he sees some reason to keep on living."

"Living, but not having a life," Cinders murmured. "I kept him alive, but now he has to find a purpose for that life. I can't do it for him, but perhaps I can give him a nudge."

"Yes." Carmosa smiled. "You know him better than anyone; take that knowledge and use it to help him decide what comes next."

Cinders let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you, Carmosa. I'm sorry I've been distracted lately."

Carmosa shrugged. "It's understandable. But we should get back to work."

"Of course. If you could keep supervising out here, I'll make sure everything is going well with the cleaning inside." And with that, she went into the house, leaving the garden in Carmosa's capable hands.


	4. Chapter 4

That night found a few dozen guests wandering about the house and gardens, representing a typical mix for one of Cinders's famous dinner parties: scholars and artists from all around the kingdom, a smattering of local merchants and nobility, Prince Basile holding court in the small gazebo at the far end of the garden, Gloria surrounded by admirers on the porch. Meanwhile, Carmosa and Sophia managed the servers and supervised the kitchen, respectively, which freed up Cinders to mingle, chat with her guests, and drop in on whatever conversation caught her fancy. The scene felt so familiar, the universe realigning itself into the patterns it had known before, as if the last three months had never happened, slipping away like a bad dream -- but for Perrault's absence. 

Perrault was not a social creature by his nature, but he did attend most of these parties, so Cinders kept looking for him, half-expecting to see him a step behind her, adding his thoughtful observations to a conversation, or observing from a corner of the garden or the library. And every time she noticed, it weighed on her heart a little more: the image of him alone in his dark and disheveled rooms, his face pale, his mood black. The thought preyed on her, stabbed her heart with guilt. Why was she even here, playing the social butterfly, while the man she loved was fighting for his life? It seemed so selfish. 

But she was a gracious hostess, and burdening her guests with her problems would be equally selfish. So she continued her walk through the house and gardens, doing more listening than talking, politely deflecting questions about Perrault and his condition until she reached the prince, who deserved a more through answer and would not have accepted a brush-off regardless. The half-dozen people crowded around him parted as she approached him with a curtsey; he took her hand and bowed over it with a genteel kiss. "My prince. You grace this house with your presence."

"Thank you for inviting me," he replied. He drew her hand through the crook of his elbow, and she allowed him to lead her out of the gazebo and into a quieter corner of the garden, a bit away from the other guests. The others took the hint and dispersed; the prince watched them go with a curl of his upper lip, which mellowed into a friendly smile as he moved to face her. "Is Sophia about?"

"Hiding in the kitchen, as usual." Cinders indicated the manor by tilting her head. "You know she hates these things. She'll appear when it's time to eat." Prince Basile chuckled, and Cinders smiled. "But I'm glad to get you alone -- I wish to speak with you about Perrault."

"Yes." The prince's expression grew serious as he continued. "I called him to the palace some days ago. We had a good chat, but I have not heard from him since. How is he?"

Cinders lowered her eyes. "Physically recovered, as much as he will ever be. Adjusting to his new circumstance is another question entirely."

"Well." Basile lifted his chin. "I suppose I could just ask him myself."

"That's what I intend to discuss with you: further summons to the palace." Cinders took a deep breath, considering whether to continue. She had a good relationship with the prince and considered him a friend, but she was still his subject. Was she presuming too much? 

"No, I meant right now. Although I suppose it would be an awkward conversation to have at a dinner party." Prince Basile gestured over Cinders's shoulder toward the garden gate, and she turned around; somehow, she managed not to gape. For there, walking into the yard, was Perrault, just as she had kept imagining him, but here, real. He was dressed in a fine white shirt and his second-best coat, looking more pressed and dapper than Cinders had seen him in months, and he lifted his chin and met her eyes with a half-smile.

"Excuse me, my prince." Without stopping to see how her barely-adequate apology, had been received, she left Prince Basile and strode across the gardens to her love, hands outstretched, heedless of the soft murmuring that followed in her wake. 

"Hello," Perrault said, taking her right hand to brush it across his lips. 

"Hello." She couldn't move, her eyes boring into his. "I thought-- you said--"

He squeezed her hand and let it go. "I changed my mind. Shall we talk later?"

"Of course." Cinders almost blushed; of course he would not want to have this conversation in front of guests. There would be time to puzzle out his presence later. For now, she would simply be glad to have him by her side. "Can I get you anything?" 

Perrault shook his head. "I'm fine. It looks as though dinner is nearly ready, anyhow."

Cinders looked up and noted the servers bringing out platters of food, Carmosa ushering guests to their seats. "Indeed. Would you accompany me, sir?"

Perrault took her offered arm, left fingers curling around her right elbow. "My lady, I would be honored."

By the time he had walked her to the table and they took their seats, Cinders was enough over her surprise to turn her attention to the conversation that buzzed around her. Her worries for Perrault were not gone, but it was easier not to imagine worst-case scenarios when she knew he was here and well. And the fact that he had chosen to come to the party after all had to be a good sign. Didn't it?

She kept sneaking looks at him, taking in his expressive eyes, the slight stiffness of motion that would probably be with him always, the old scar that ran down his cheek. And she watched him eat, noting that he chose no dishes that would require two hands to cut or prepare. When he cast a longing look at the basket of rolls on the table, she took two, buttered them both, and handed him one without comment; his expression contained a mixture of mortification and gratitude, but he relaxed when he realized that no one else had noticed. They were all too busy with their own conversations, with the laughter that came from Gloria at the head of the table, or Prince Basile's discussion of the state of the kingdom at its foot. Cinders also noted the quiet, fond glances that passed between the prince and Sophia, who sat at his left hand; perhaps they thought themselves discreet, but they wouldn't be able to get away with it for much longer.

Gloria, too, Cinders thought as the party started breaking up. Most of the remaining guests followed Cinders to the library, but Gloria made her way to the gazebo with a few of her friends, and one in particular. Not so long ago, Gloria would have had a different suitor at every party, but Charles had been at her side more and more often, and tonight she seemed to have eyes only for him, her hand wound around his elbow, her laughter at his jokes a little more genuine, her expression warmer. Change, it seemed, was coming, and an idea took root in the back of her mind.

But she had a party to tend to, first, and so she let the thought sit for now, growing behind the discussion of the latest philosophical debates out of the local university, following a conversation that ranged free and widely, sipping from the glass of sweet raspberry cordial that the butler had handed her. Soon enough, the guests were leaving, few enough remaining that Prince Basile started sending looks at Perrault, looks that he was pointedly ignoring. Cinders caught his eye, and he responded with a barely perceptible shake of his head -- he was not prepared for a follow-up discussion with his liege. With a quick nod in return, Cinders stood from her place on the sofa and yawned.

"Pardon my rudeness, my lord, but it has been a long day and I wish to retire. Sophia will see you out." 

"Of course, Cinders, Perrault." Prince Basile lowered his head with a smile; if he was displeased, he did not show it. "Perhaps you will join me for dinner at the palace on the morrow?"

"I would be honored, sire." Cinders curtsied and Perrault made a silent bow, and then they left the room together, Cinders's hand on his elbow, not turning around to see whether Sophia rose from her place in the corner to take advantage of the solitude Cinders had created for them. Instead, she followed Perrault up the stairs to her room in silence, and when the door closed behind them, he sighed, his back and shoulders relaxing; then he turned to her.

"Thank you for that. And I haven't forgotten that I owe you an explanation." Perrault shrugged his coat off his left arm, then carefully pulled it from his right before draping it over the straight-backed chair by the door.

Cinders perched on the edge of the easy chair, leaving the bed for him to settle onto. "Take your time," she replied.

Perrault stood at the window for a moment, then looked away with a rueful chuckle. "I find myself staring out windows more than I used to," he mused. "I wonder what I'm looking for, out there."

She tipped her head to the side. "You tell me."

He responded with another quiet laugh, settling down on the edge of the bed, leaning down to take off his boots. It was a slow process, but he did it on his own, then scooted back to sit up against the headboard, head tipped backwards, eyes closed. When he opened them to look at Cinders, it was with a distant air. "I never told you what happened, did I? When I was attacked."

Cinders shook her head. "I didn't want to press you."

"And I appreciated that." Perrault took a deep breath and leveled his chin. "I wasn't ready to discuss it, didn't want to burden you with the tale. But I think I need to tell the story now, if you'll hear it."

"Of course I will." Cinders brought her hands together in her lap, leaning forward, bracing herself for anything. However awful the tale might be, it couldn't be as bad as she had imagined, seeing him injured that first time. 

"You know, I think, that I was on the trail of a pack of bandits. They had been catching unsuspecting travelers on the road, so I was watching closely, or so I thought. Two hours out, I saw signs of their passing, then caught a glimpse of one in the distance. Alone, easy prey -- I thought I would cut him down and leave him, as a warning to the others." Perrault lowered his head, and he shuddered. "He sped up, so I spurred Millie onward, abandoning any attempt at stealth. She was so eager, his horse looked to be tiring, I was so confident... and the next thing I knew was pain as something knocked me off Millie's back, and then again when I hit the ground." He looked up, eyes grim, mouth set into a hard flat line. "I had ridden straight into an ambush. Ten men. One cut my saddle strap, another hit me in the side with a club to unhorse me. I got to my feet, but could barely keep to them -- I think, now, that I put my shoulder out of joint when I fell. After that... it didn't last much longer." 

Cinders bit her lip and hugged her arms to herself, both at the terror of the story and the pain in Perrault's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Perrault looked away. "I should have known better. Some of the travelers had reported that the thieves were laying elaborate traps. But I was arrogant and careless, and I blundered straight into one."

"You can't blame yourself." Cinders leaned far enough forward to cup his foot with her hand. 

"Of course I can," Perrault said, still not meeting her eyes. "I'm just fortunate they decided Millie was too valuable to kill out from under me, or I would have ridden into her doom as well as mine." His whole body shuddered with his next breath. "It makes me wonder, you see. Whether I would still be fit for this job even if I were whole. Maybe... maybe it would have been time to hang up my sword regardless."

Cinders squeezed his foot, sharing her presence and, she hoped, some reassurance. "You made a mistake," she said, softly. "Anyone can make a mistake."

Perrault nodded, but without conviction. "Not everyone's mistakes are deadly," he mumbled in response, and for a moment she thought he was done talking, had drawn back into himself again. But then he let out a soft sigh and continued. "Not much more to tell, really. There were ten of them and only one of me, and I was in extraordinary pain. I took down two, maybe three before they knocked me back to the ground. That's when one of their horses stepped on me. The shock of that on top of the already injured shoulder was too much, and I lost consciousness. I don't know why they left without finishing me off. Probably they thought I was already dead, or close enough." His mouth twisted into something that was not quite a frown. "I certainly thought I was. That was my last thought, you know: that it was all over, and I would never see you again."

Cinders took a sharp breath, letting go of his foot as she jerked back into her seat, and he finally met her eyes, let her see all the fear and pain and hopelessness of that moment, and that he still carried with him. "Oh, love. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, a puff of air that dropped the tension in his shoulder. "I don't remember Eduard and the others finding me, and the ride is a blur, a haze of darkness and cold and pain. My next proper memory is of waking up in this bed, opening my eyes to see you standing over me. And at first I thought that I had died after all, that you were an angel of some sort. Then I realized how much pain I was in. Which meant that I was alive, and you were real." It seemed like a signal of sorts, and Cinders got up from the chair and sat next to him on the bed. She leaned down to rest her head in his lap, and he placed his hand on her hair. "I think, in that moment, I decided that life was worth living and I would fight for it. And though I struggle with that choice now, I don't regret it." He stroked her long hair. "Though I still don't understand why you've stuck with me."

Cinders rolled onto her back, traced his chin with a finger, then lightly touched his nose. "Because I love you, you beautiful stubborn man. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

His brow softened, and one corner of his mouth turned up, just so. "Never stop telling me that."

"A promise I'm happy to keep," she said, and Perrault pulled her into a long, sweet kiss, his hand curling around her cheek and the back of her head. When he let her go, she spoke again, raising the question he seemed to be avoiding. "You still haven't told me why you came tonight."

Perrault stroked her cheek, his smile turning wobbly. "Because, though sometimes it may not seem like it, I'm glad to be alive. And sitting alone in my dark rooms instead of being here, surrounded by life and light, didn't feel like living. I might not know my place in this world yet, but better to be in the world than out of it."

Cinders pressed her lips together, unsure whether to break into a smile or tears of relief. "There will always be a place for you here. Always."

"I know." He leaned his forehead against hers, a gesture so comfortable and familiar that the smile won out. She sat up and settled into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, and kissed him again, bringing her lips to touch his nose, his chin, his mouth, his throat. He groaned as he encircled her waist with his arm, and she murmured his name against his skin.

Perrault mumbled something incoherent and buried his face in Cinders's hair. In response, she pressed her open mouth against his neck, following his pulse down below the collar of his shirt. She opened each button with care, kissing each bit of his chest as it was revealed to her, tasting the salt of his warm skin, tenderly caressing the smooth scars that marked his battle wounds, old and new. Working her way down his breastbone to just above his navel, she unbuckled the two belts that held up his pants, pulled them free, and slipped them down over his hips. 

His hand landed on her shoulder, and he stopped her with a murmur of her name. Cinders looked up and saw him looking down at her, intent on studying her face. "Cinders," he said again. "Let me see you."

She returned to the top of the bed, and he laid his left hand on her breast, kneading it through the layers of fabric. Then he reached for the lacings of her bodice and tugged the knot free before undoing all the hooks. Once, he would have reached for her eagerly, the bodice off her body almost without a thought, but his movements were slower now, more clumsy -- and somehow that heightened the sensation, made Cinders all the more eager for him to open the last hook and let her bodice fall, freeing her breasts as he leaned forward and took one his mouth, suckling it through the thin linen of her shift. She gasped and her head fell backwards, knocking against the headboard; she reached her arms up and he pulled the shift over her head, exposing her skin to his eyes and his hand, left hand stroking her right breast while he encircled her left nipple with his tongue. Grasping the top of the headboard, she pressed forward into his touch, his mouth, soft moans escaping her lips at the sensations coursing from her breasts throughout her whole body. Even her feet were tingling.

Perrault's hand slipped down to her waist while his lips traveled upward, to her collarbone, her shoulder, her neck, then fastened on her mouth, hard and eager, seeking life and finding it in the taste of their breath co-mingled. Cinders closed her eyes and let go of the headboard to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him close, his body against hers, skin to skin. She opened her legs, and he nestled between her hips before plunging inside her without a word, quicker than a breath or a thought; she sighed with contentment, taking a moment just to feel him there, buried deep. 

"I love you," he mumbled, his words almost lost in the groan that followed as she lifted her hips and squeezed him. Then she rocked forward, tipping them into a sitting position that would take the pressure off his right side. He lowered his face into her neck, and she brought her lips to his ear, nibbling at the lobe.

"And I love you," she whispered, and then she began to move, drawing her hips up and back, as far as she could stand before returning, riding back down the full length of his cock; his hands rested on her hips, the left supporting and guiding her, the right along for the ride, callused fingertips brushing over her skin. Her breathing sped up with each stroke, and she felt his chest heaving to match, soft grunts and groans as the tension built within them. And then he cried out, grinding himself against her, and she held him close as he came, his whole body shuddering, his breath hot on her neck.

He fell backwards then, his head at the foot of the bed, taking quick sharp breaths. She decoupled herself from him and rolled into his side, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. His eyes were closed, his face slick with the healthy sweat of exertion; then he looked up at her with a smile. "Ah, Cinders. You always did make this old man feel young."

Cinders traced his jawline and smiled back. "Not so old," she said, teasing. "Not if you can still turn in a performance like that."

Perrault's answering laugh let a flurry of butterflies loose in her stomach. "And who said the performance was over?" He drew his hand up her thigh, over her hips, traced a lazy circle around her her belly, and then pressed a long finger between her legs. Cinders gasped, first with surprise and then with pleasure as he stroked her, faster with each touch, gentle but insistent. Her eyes closed and her head fell back, all the world gone but for Perrault, the sounds of their breathing loud in her ears, the pressure building until it broke, an explosion that left her trembling, her hips bucking up and down against his hand, his mouth finding hers and his tongue plunging inside, her hands gripping his stubbled cheeks to pull him near. The first wave was followed by another, and another, each one crashing into the next until she lost track of where one ended and another began.

Finally she pulled away, her head dropping back into the mattress, body going limp as he withdrew. Totally spent, she had just enough energy left to nuzzle against his chest, her hand covering his heart. "Oh, love," she murmured, capable of no more than that, and he chuckled again, his hand stroking her hair, her cheek, her shoulder.

"Sleep well," he said, and that was the last thing she knew before slipping into an oblivion of contentment.

-x-

When Cinders finally woke, the sun was rising. Somehow, she had turned around on and crawled beneath the quilt, because she was lying the right way round, her head on the pillow rather that at the foot of the bed. And so had Perrault -- he was right next to her, still breathing in the slow cadence of sleep. She couldn't help but smile at the soft light of dawn playing over his face, the way it highlighted his peaceful expression. She leaned over to kiss him, a gentle brush over his cheek, and he murmured in response, a quiet noise of contentment.

Cinders laid back down, resting her cheek on his shoulder, and he gathered her into a sleepy embrace. "Morning," he mumbled.

"Good morning," she replied, and then they curled together in a companionable silence for a time, neither of them wanting to break the spell they had woven the night before. Only when a beam of light finally crept over the windowsill to land in Cinders's eyes did she stir out of his arms, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she sat up. Perrault followed, and the two of them got ready for the day with minimal conversation. Once dressed and downstairs for breakfast, they found themselves still alone, taking a casual meal in the kitchen. After Cinders dished Perrault a bowl of porridge -- she had given the staff the day off, in recognition of all the hard work they had done for the party, so they would eat simply today -- she settled back in her chair with a cup of tea balanced by its rim on her fingertips.

Perrault ate a spoonful of porridge, then looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. "You seem to have something to say."

Cinders blew on the tea's surface and took a delicate sip before responding with a nod. "I had a thought last night, and I wanted to share it with you."

"Ah." Perrault set down his spoon and crossed his hands over his knees, leaning forward to listen. "All right, go on then."

"Change is in the air lately. Not just in your life, but in other areas as well." Cinders took another drink, taking the moment to consider her next words. "Surely you noticed last night that both of my stepsisters are being actively courted."

"Gloria, yes. That swain of hers could hardly be missed. As for Sophia..." Perrault arched his brow even further upward. "You think that the prince would truly marry her? What would the court say?"

Cinders shrugged. "At this point, they are so desperate for him to be married that they might not say anything. At least she's nobility, if not quite the nobility anyone had in mind. And not the worst he could have done -- remember when he offered for me?" Perrault snorted, a sound halfway between humor and derision. "At any rate, you have to admit that he's fond of her, and she of him, and that she would challenge him in useful ways."

"All true." Perrault shook his head with a half smile. "She would certainly upend that court, possibly in ways that it could use upending. But what has this to do with me?"

"As I said, things are changing." Cinders set down her teacup and stared into it as she continued. "I foresee a time, very soon, when Gloria and Sophia are both gone, leaving me to run this house with only Carmosa's aid." She raised her eyes to Perrault. "I would consider myself fortunate if you would come and assist me in that task."

"Me?" Although the word was spoken with surprise, Perrault appeared more curious than alarmed. "I don't know what I would do. What do I know about running a household?"

She laughed. "As much as I did, when I started. And there are always far more tasks than any one person can accomplish alone, or even two: managing the staff, the accounts, the farmlands, our security. Especially the last; having a former guard living here would give any potential thieves pause, don't you think?"

Perrault drummed his left fingers across his knee. "I have always said that you should take security here more seriously. But if I can't fight, what can I do?"

"You can plan the defenses, and you can teach," Cinders replied. "I am sure that Eduard would be happy for you to share your knowledge of arms and technique with his new recruits, and they can bunk in the stables while they learn. Plus, there's an unused grove that might make a fine practice grounds. I've seen you out there a time or two, drilling."

"Hmm." Perrault leaned backwards, looking up at the ceiling. "I would need to think about it."

"Of course." Cinders picked up her tea again for another sip, stomach unclenching in relief that he had not rejected her suggestion out of hand. "I know it's a very different life than you ever imagined for yourself; I only wished to present it as an option. Take your time. There's no rush."

Perrault nodded, then looked at her again. "Don't think I missed the part where you suggested that I live here. Are you sure about that? What would people think?"

Cinders arched an eyebrow at him. "And when did I start concerning myself with what other people think?"

He laughed. "Fair enough." Scooting back toward the table, he picked up his spoon and resumed eating his meal, and Cinders watched him eat for a moment before getting back up to serve her own breakfast.

-x-

"Thank you again for having us, my lord." Cinders curtseyed to Prince Basile, who took her hand for a formal kiss. "It is always an honor to be invited to the palace."

"And it is always my pleasure for you to attend." The prince released her hand, then smiled at Perrault. "And you as well, my friend."

"Sire," Perrault responded with a bow of his head. One servant took his coat and Cinders's cloak, and another led them to the smaller dining room that the prince used for less formal occasions. When they arrived, the table was already set with fresh vegetables, bread, and a whole pheasant -- quite a spread for three people. There was wine, too, and the butler handed Cinders a goblet, which she took with a smile, and an eyebrow raised at Perrault. The prince was pulling out all the stops for this visit, and she had to wonder how Perrault felt about that.

He met her eye with a small, calm nod that betrayed no reaction, then pulled out a chair for her at the prince's left hand before going around the table to sit across from her. The prince settled into his own seat and lifted his glass, looking first to Cinders, then to Perrault. "A toast," he said, "to a bountiful summer and to continued associations with old friends."

"Hear, hear, my lord." Cinders leaned forward to touch her glass to theirs and then drank. Perrault followed suit, but she noted that he took only a quick sip before setting the goblet down. 

"So." The prince swirled the glass in his hand, then leaned over to face Perrault. "I trust you have had some time to consider our previous conversation?"

"I have." Perrault's hand tightened around the stem of his goblet, his knuckles turning just a shade whiter. "Thank you, my lord, for the offer. I appreciate that you would find me to be of use to your court, even after all that has happened. But--" He glanced at Cinders, who widened her eyes and willed him to continue. "At their core, the reasons I retired from your service are unchanged. So I fear I must say no, yet again, and hope that you think no less of me for doing so."

Basile shook his head; Cinders thought he almost looked relieved. "Not at all. I understand your reasoning, and if you still feel you can do more good elsewhere, then I leave you to it, with my blessing." He raised an eyebrow. "But have you found occupation elsewhere?"

Perrault lifted his eyes to Cinders with a small smile. "Yes, my lord. I do believe that I have."

Though he did not look at Cinders, she thought she saw the prince's eyes flick in her direction, and warming movement to his smile. "Good. Well, now that's out of the way, shall we continue with our meal? I want more of your thoughts on the conversation we were having last night about the treaties I am considering."

-x-

By the time they finished dinner, made their farewells to the prince, and left the palace, night had fully fallen and a crisp breeze whisked through the gardens -- summer would be turning to autumn soon enough. Cinders cinched her cloak around her neck and took a step closer to Perrault, hooking her hand around his elbow. He glanced down at her and smiled. "That was a pleasant dinner."

She smiled back. "It was, wasn't it? Prince Basile is an excellent host." 

"Second finest in the kingdom." Cinders chuckled at the implied compliment, and they continued down the path that wound from the palace towards the town, walking in comfortable silence for some minutes. When they reached the outskirts, Cinders paused, waiting to make the turn onto the road that lead toward his boarding house, but Perrault kept walking in the direction of the forest.

"You don't want to stay over?" Cinders glanced up, checking the stars. "It's a little late."

Perrault shook his head. "I'd rather just get home to the manor," he said. "The forest should be safe enough, especially for two of us together."

It took a few moments more of walking for Cinders to register what Perrault had said; when it finally sunk in, she stopped dead and let go of his arm, turning to face him. "Home?"

"To the manor," Perrault repeated, his expression blank, the significance of what he had just said lost on him. "Unless you don't want to make the walk."

Cinders reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. "I would walk anywhere with you, but especially home." And she leaned forward and kissed him, her mouth firm against his, her heart leaping with happiness. "Home," she murmured again, and she tucked her chin into the hollow of his neck as he brought his arm around her waist.

"Yes," he said, turning to lean his cheek against the top of her head, wonder coming into his voice. "I... I suppose it has been, hasn't it? Two rooms that I only visit to sleep don't make much of a home. But more importantly, you aren't there." He burrowed more closely into her hair and sighed. "I should have let myself realize that earlier."

"What matters is that you know now." Cinders stepped back enough to look up at him, and he smiled down at her as she reached up to brush the hair out of his face. "So are you ready to come home and start your life anew?"

"I'm ready." And he leaned down to capture her mouth in a kiss, full of wonder and hope and promise.

-x-

Three days later, Cinders walked onto the front porch and lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the noontime sun as she scanned the horizon. Sophia looked up from her book, then snapped it shut as she stood up to join Cinders on the steps. "So today is the big day?"

"That was the plan," Cinders replied. "He said he'd be here by lunchtime-- ah, there he is." A cloud of dust rose from the road, and Perrault's horse galloped out of it, Perrault sitting up straight on her back. He did not wave, but as he grew close enough to catch Cinders's eyes, he lifted his chin in warm acknowledgement. Cinders did wave, first at him, then at the porter riding a few lengths behind him. She kept watching as the two of them rode through the gate and into the courtyard together, a chest tied to each horse's back, and then she skipped down the steps to meet them. Perrault tossed Cinders the reins; she tied them to the fence, then stepped aside to give him room to dismount. He hit the ground running, closing the space between them with a few quick to greet her with a kiss, resting a hand on her waist.

"Did you get everything?" she asked.

Perrault tipped his head toward the two small oaken chests that contained all his worldly possessions. "Everything that matters, that wasn't already here." He leaned down for another kiss against her answering smile, more lingering this time, as the porter removed the chests and handed the smaller one to Sophia, leaving the horses to the groom. The porter marched directly inside; Sophia paused at the doorway and caught Cinders's eye with a small grin, then disappeared, leaving Cinders and Perrault alone.

"So." Cinders glanced at the doorway, then back to Perrault. "This is it."

"So it would seem." Perrault slid his hand to catch their fingers together. "Cinders. I appreciate all that you have done for me, more than I can ever say. And I appreciate that you have never pushed on me to make any sort of commitment to our relationship, even though it would make your life more convenient."

Cinders shrugged. "I have been happy with things as they are; why change them?"

Perrault nodded. "As have I. And yet I have thought, many times, long before things changed, of proposing. But I always found a reason to hold back: my fears, my age, my responsibilities. And now..." He took a deep breath, lowered his eyes. "I never want you to think that I married you only because circumstances forced my hand. I want a partner, not a nursemaid; a wife who chooses me from love, not pity."

"Oh, love." Cinders lifted a hand to his cheek and rested the backs of her fingers there. "I would never think any of those things."

"I know that, rationally." Perrault stepped closer and lowered his forehead, leaning it against hers. "And yet, the appearance of the thing remains."

"Very well." Cinders moved her hand to the back of his neck. "What, then, do you suggest?"

"One year," he replied, his fingers tight against hers. "I live here for a year, helping you run the estate, and at the end of that time we see where things stand. Perhaps we marry then, perhaps we do not, but either way, we can decide with clearer eyes."

Cinders lifted herself up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. "That sounds like a bargain."

"Good." He lifted his lips in half a smile, then moved them across hers, careful and sweet. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, pulling him tight. 

After a moment she broke away, leaned her head on his shoulder, then shifted around to his side. "Time to come home."

"Yes indeed." And hand in hand, they walked up the stairs and crossed the threshold together.


End file.
